Somewhere sacred and unholy
by opheliahamlet
Summary: Whouffaldi AU. Clara is at university and The Doctor is her new Medieval literature teacher. " And what makes you say that ?". She takes him in, her eyes slowly inspecting him. She observes but doesn't discriminate. Her answer is all cheek and no judgement. " Well, the boots and the magician outfit are pretty good dead giveaways."
1. Chapter 1

Hello everyone, this is a Whouffaldi AU. I hope you all liked Deep Breath. And if you haven't seen it yet, well, it's not spoilery so no worries. Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy it. Don't hesitate to comment, I can take anything ;) xx Callie

As always, the BBC owns Doctor Who.

Somewhere sacred and unholy

Clara doesn't believe in ghosts. She is rational like that and often congratulates herself for her level-headedness in every situation. ( everyone needs to tap themselves on the back once in a while, it's only healthy)

When she formulates the idea to her friend Nina, she doesn't understand.

" I mean, it's no use to dwell on the past when you still have the possibility to move forward."

Nina thinks her cold and maybe, she doesn't quite believe her. It's been four years, yes, but no one should be that immune to the loss of one's parent. Especially when the other parent buries himself in conspiracy theories to lose focus on a rather painful reality. Clara avoids Nina's stare. She doesn't want to be judged and suddenly, she's relieved that they're not returning to the same university. Maybe a geographical separation will be for the best. They've lost their grip on each other, as if words weren't quite sticking anymore, didn't matter when it came from each other's lips. Clara knows that she is not alone to believe they're not as inseparable as they used to be. As if she were growing a new skin, with more sensations and less marks than before ( her wounds are deeper, carved on her bones. A permanent scar, never growing out and easier to conceal if you're not looking. Nina definitely has to go. She sees too much already ).

Nina sighs and lets the matter go ( and so much more, they both know. Maybe in another life, they'll be better at it ). She hops from Clara's bed, her feet noiseless on the floor. Light as a feather, she always was. Something she envies her. She's always been more pushy than graceful, a force to be reckoned with, her mother said. Clara sometimes wishes she didn't have to be so forceful about things. She wants to belong, not fight her way through life. She sighs as well. Polar opposites, they are. And gravity is pulling them apart, claiming the right of nature over the will of spent friendship. Nina goes, a goodbye in her smile and a farewell in her kiss. Be good, be amazing. Au revoir, auf Wiedersehen. She doesn't hear the front door closing after Nina. She expires. Alone at last.

Her return to the university campus is a blessing. Her dad accompanied her with his car, hugging her tightly before leaving her in front of her flat. She loves him, really. He doesn't dwell on goodbyes. He knows they love each other and leaves it at that. He lost the ability to voice his feelings for her since he lost Ellie. And conspiracy theories, as Nina says, are only an expletory to a deeper wound. She doesn't watch the car fade into the distance.

One of the girls with whom she shares the student housing is already there. Her name is Martha, she studies medicine and she's nice and quiet, always neat with her belongings and Clara appreciates her. The feeling is mutual so they hug as they greet each other. The summer has been long and strange and they are glad to be back to something familiar.

They speak quietly, unpacking and rearranging the flat to make themselves believe they never really left. Later, Rose will arrive, her crazy-haired boyfriend shadowing her with her luggages. His name is John and he loves her with a passion. She cannot remember not knowing Rose without John, even though she arrived four years earlier, single and broken-hearted ( she once spoke of a boy from her estate for whom she left school to form a band with. He almost stole her future as he stole her money. She never mentioned him again.). Rose saved herself and worked hard and long to earn her scholarship. Clara loves her for that. Both of them study astronomy and sometimes, she hears them talking about space through the walls. She envies them. This ability to love one another so completely the outside world seems in sync with them.

Rose kisses her boyfriend before he leaves for his own flat when a flamboyant red head appears in the living room. John cries " Ginger !" and Rose laughs. The new girl's name is Amy and she looks at John as if he'd just grown a second head right in front of her. " Scottish and ginger, problem ?"

"Nope !" and he leaves the flat, still laughing at his own joke. Rose apologises for him. "Rude and not ginger, that one. Just ignore him."

They all finish settling and Amelia – "no, really, Amy's fine"- has a bottle of Scotch is her bag and proposes a toast. " To my new flatmates. You may all be English but no one's perfect. Sláinte !"

Their first evening back is spent in the living room/kitchen. They get to know Amy, who is studying journalism, and Amy gets to know them. Their friendship is instantaneous, and soon, they forget she hadn't been part of the group ( Nina never really was a part of the group. She had another crowd, and Clara is grateful for it. She won't have to spend time with them now, pretending to like obscure bands and dysfunctional poets.).

Amy speaks of her parents and her boyfriend Rory– who apparently knows Martha from a few shared lectures- and how she's never going back to the last flat she inhabited with the scariest girls to ever walk this planet. " It's like they could sense I wasn't looking at them and they would creep on me from behind. I swear, they looked like perfect angels when I first met them until the flat got dark during the first night and they turned into creepy monsters." They all laugh because they're drunk on the more than half-finished bottle and Amy is a great story-teller.

They all agree to go to bed a bit after midnight, all worn out by the moving in and out of the day. Clara sleeps well for the first time in weeks. Summer never agreed with her. She remembers being at a party and one of Nina's friends telling her she was a girl of winter, in dire need of a ray of sunshine if she didn't want to be turned into a glass sculpture. Nina had laughed and Clara had kept silent the rest of the evening, pondering on the veracity of his words. (One day, He'll tell her : "You're not, you never were. You were just frozen in time, needing to be brought back to life.")

The following morning, she wakes up early and she goes out to buy some croissants and coffees to go for the girls. The campus is not yet full of its students, the arrivals lasting until tomorrow, so she doesn't wait long and she enjoys the stillness of the university's architecture. It's an old building, full of history and stories, waiting to be told and to be lived. She smiles a bit at herself, it's like the leaf in her book. Her mother would have appreciated the thought. The craving of baking soufflés takes her by surprise and she thinks she'll indulge herself, later in the day. She arrives back at the flat and two of the girls are getting up. The smell of coffee and pastries wakes the third one and they all thank Clara, really, you shouldn't have, with their mouth filled and their eyes still half-closed. Clara sits at the table with them, and she truly believes this year will be something special.

She arrives early. It's a habit she's been cultivating for some time, lateness never agreed with her ( oh, but if she knew… ).

The lecture hall is.. impressive to say the least. It's the first time she's ever been to this side of the building and feels like it's bigger on the inside ( maybe it is). They told her last year about being in fifth year. You discover a whole new side of the university and suddenly, you're not sure whether you're still in the same dimension. She can see why now. She's in the old wing and it's still feeling its age, proud and silent, her feet resonating on the old stones. The room follows that same idea. Dark wood and books everywhere, the eye cannot escape the idea of learning and deep rooted traditions. She chuckles. Universities have a knack to make you believe in parallel universes. The outside world is not so well organised, so obviously one-track minded. She relishes in the feelings of her worn books beneath her fingertips.

When she first arrived, four years ago, she had hoped university to be a distraction from the outside world. A cocoon to settle in, until maybe, something better comes out of it. She might just be on the right path, feeling the shell weaken as she awakens to new horizons. She can almost taste it in her mouth, feel it coursing through her veins, this new desire to become something more, something with a purpose. She blinks and her heart skips a beat, almost breathless. She scares herself these days, not knowing how to feel without drowning. She hides herself behind a wall of self-control but the façade is slowly crumpling down. She doesn't know why. She is helpless, wishing for a hand to steady her. But she reaches in the void, losing her balance. When will it stop ?

Lost in thoughts, she doesn't hear the door opening. The rattling of throat startles her. The sight of the man in front of her desk, blindsides her. Studies say that falling in love takes less than three seconds to the human brain.

It takes her less than two to give up the arms and surrender.

Ghosts may not exist but it doesn't mean you can't be haunted. Even by flesh and bones wearing dark suits and impressive stares.

" I didn't know we allowed students before professors. It seems rather rude, miss…"

She gets up, instinctively. He smiles. She prefers not to qualify it. She might not come out alive of the room if she does.

" Oswald. Clara Oswald. I'm so sorry. The door was open, I didn't know we were supposed to wait for you to come in first. I'll leave if you- "

He laughs. Genuinely. It's rather beautiful.

" Nah, don't worry. It's just that I'm not used to such earliness, even on the first day. Are you trying to make me look bad ?"

She smiles, relieved. He is Scottish and a bit rude and she decides she likes him. His gaze unsettles her but she recognizes a challenge when she hears one. His tone hides a dare she cannot resist to take.

" Not at all. I simply never cared for tardiness. I can't help it if you can't compete with my eagerness to begin class. I'd like to say I'm sorry if it makes you look bad but I have a feeling you don't really care about your own reputation, so I won't."

He chuckles, crosses his arms and leans over, interested. She has his attention and he acknowledges that she passed a silent test. However, he doesn't let go of the matter so easily :

" And what makes you say that ?"

She takes him in, her eyes slowly inspecting him. She observes but doesn't discriminate. Her answer is all cheek and no judgement.

" Well, the boots and the magician outfit are pretty good dead giveaways."

He wants to reply but a few students come in before he has a chance to do so and leaves the matter at that.

"_For the moment" _his eyes say.

After this rather unfortunate interruption, the rest of the students trickle in and soon, the hall is full and noisy. While waiting for everyone to settle, he writes on the blackboard in capital letters :

" THE DOCTOR, MEDIEVAL LITERATURE"

A hand is raised and a boy with a big sweater and a rather impressive set of piercings voices the first question :

" Doctor who ?"

The Doctor gives a good look at the rest of the hall, stopping his stare an additional second on Clara before answering to the boy :

" Good question young man, but I won't tell because it's boring and if you listen well to what I'm going to teach you this term, you'll know that names have power and I'm not sure I can entrust any of you with such a responsibility just yet. Someone else ?"

A blond girl, petite and polished, asks :

" Why the Doctor ? Why not The Professor ?"

"Two reasons. One, The Professor is boring and predictable and two, as during medieval times, you should never trust a doctor, because he might amputate your leg instead of curing your flu. Which is the first lesson you shall learn today. Never trust anyone. Not me, not the books, not the pretty girl sitting next to you, not even your mother."

Laughs erupt in the hall.

" Can we trust ourselves ?" A redhead, in the back.

" Certainly not. If you do so, you won't make it pass next week, and then, where would I be, staring at an empty hall, with no one to amputate of the brain ?"

The rest of the lecture goes on, the Doctor magnetic and impermissible. Everyone is charmed and scared at the same time. He tells everyone that he does not make concessions. If you do not belong in his class, he won't hold you back. He already warns them. In two weeks, half of them will be gone. Either because he wants you to or because you'll be too scared to show your face. Clara can see he's telling the truth, even if some of the others don't believe him. "Wait and see. For next time, I want a three page paper on what you think defines medieval literature. Don't show up if you haven't done it. I never forgive laziness. It's your worst enemy and if you're not ready to overcome it, then you're not ready for this class. I'll see you all next week. Miss Oswald, a word if you please."

Shit, is she out already ? She didn't think he'd be resentful over their little interlude before class. She waits and carefully approaches his desk after the last student makes his exit.

"Is it the red lapels ?"

She doesn't follow.

"Excuse me ?"

He looks right into her eyes, as if he were genuinely concerned by what she might answer. She stills herself.

" That makes me look like a magician ? I thought it was rather nice to have a splash of colour with the dark suit but if you think it's too much.."

She laughs, relieved. So it's going to be like that, eh ? The cheek comes back with a vengeance.

" You know what, I was wrong. It's perfect on you. Keep the boots though, or people will really believe that you're into the dark arts."

He knows he's won, somehow. And Clara wonders what's the prize ( She is. She doesn't know, she doesn't see yet. He doesn't know either and he'll slap himself several times over for such an obvious mistake ). He follows through anyway and falls into his own trap :

" And the boots are preventing such belief ?"

She spokes and he is doomed :

" No, but it does make you look cool"

Something holds, but what, they ask simultaneously :" Well, I'm glad. You should have seen my predecessor. He thought bow ties and fezzes were the next big thing."

She leaves the room, still laughing. He watches her.

_Reviews are love ;)_


	2. Chapter 2

_Hello everyone ! First, I'd like to thank all the ones who have reviewed, favorited and/or followed the story, it's really nice to feel supported while writing the rest of the story. I don't know how many chapters this will take, so hang on in there ;) Second, this chapter deals with River/eleven and I know that people out there might not be very inclined to ship them and I know I'm one of them, so I don't judge. But I needed a bit of back story for Twelve and I also didn't want River to be the "baddy" ( she's really not) or to be unhappy. I just think the whole affair needed closure and I tried to give it to them. So bear with me, it's only this chapter and then it's full on Whouffaldi mode. _

_Love, Callie._

Chapter two :

He dreams that he is drowning, hitting the bottom of the ocean before being swallowed by the earth and imploding at the core of the planet. He becomes atoms and flies away, deep into space, seeking fulfilment to a wanderlust he'll never satisfy.

He dreams of nebulas and burgeoning galaxies, comets and lonely creatures, travelling through the universe. Time has no meaning. Space is constant movement, an unstoppable force, never equalled or acknowledged. He doesn't have a physical body and yet, he still has a will of his own and he finally understands the purpose of being. At peace, he wanders towards the nearest star.

The light blinds him.

He wakes up.

The Doctor is sitting on the edge of his bed, his head in a daze and his body barely responding to the electrical impulses his brain almost fails to send. He looks around him, at the bed half-unmade and the closet half-filled and decides to get up, because it's frankly pathetic to wake up so early in the morning and wondering why his bed is always cold when he gets in it and when he gets out.

Upstairs, in the kitchen, the coffee machine makes a familiar noise while he ponders on going to university right after his shower or staying home, read a book or something.

He decides on the former, not willing to endure the silence of his flat. He finishes his breakfast and takes a long, warm shower, trying to get the sudden shivering of his body under control. He exits the bathroom and gets dressed in hurry. He almost runs out of his own flat, afraid of the dark and not looking back.

He always appreciated first day of term. After an interminable summer, trying to finish his book on _l' Amour Courtois_ ( and failing miserably ) while attending here and there a few conferences on literature held by dusty scholars and snobbish new PhDs, the prospect of active work was pure unadulterated bliss.

He welcomes the sight of busy university corridors like an old friend, ghosting through halls and staircases, never truly noticed but always there. This is his idea of spring, of rebirth and renewal. He never cared for seasons and ever-changing landscapes. He thrives on people. They are the embodiment of life getting back to his dying body, refuelling his failing mind. It may be cold, raining, or storming, he'll always find pleasure in intelligent conversation. And young minds, untarnished by deceptions and snobbery and everything in between, were part of the few people capable of diving into the unknown with him, questioning everything they knew and everything he knew, may it be about literature or history or dark secrets of the universe. There was no end to their curiosity and to his. Out there, alone in his flat with no one to talk to but himself, he was driving himself into an early grave, like a caged animal with too much unspent energy.

First day of term never came too fast.

He opens the door to find someone already there, a young woman sitting in one of the front rows, lost in thought and unaware of his presence.

Well, that's frankly rude.

He observes her for a minute, waiting for her to notice him. Brunette and petite, his eyes fall on hers and finds himself deeply troubled by what he uncovers there. Joy and regrets, enlacing her, not ready to let go of her just yet. He acknowledges a kindred soul and hopes it's not just wishful thinking.

Suddenly, the urge of hearing her voice becomes unbearable and he decides to make himself known by standing in front of her desk. Nothing.

_Oh for god's sake…_

He rattles his throat and she springs on her feet, disorientated and apologetic. He almost feels bad.

_Almost._

Follows the most invigorating dialogue about reputation and outfits and who does she thinks she is, making him smile against his better judgement, and _flirting._

Clara Oswald is the prettiest thing he's seen in his class in a very long time. Oh, he's seen passable and outrageous cleavages and coming onto him like a speeding car out of control but they were usually a bit vacant and not interested in anything else but a good remark on their final review. Which is why he stays on his guards until she unapologetically calls him out on his sense of dress.

Wars had been declared on lesser offences. She has no idea the mess she just put herself in and it's just as well he doesn't have time to reply to her segue. Let her think she has the upper hand. The reversal of positions will only be more enjoyable.

The other students arrive and he begins his first class like he always does : with an introduction and a warning. He knows he always tends to give into theatricals during his early classes but he needs them to retain and understand the fact that this is not a class where you sit back and relax, waiting for the clock to tick faster. He makes them sweat and question themselves. He needs them to ask the right questions. The man who has one day said that there is no such thing as a stupid question was a moron. As far as his class is concerned, anyway. Literature is not for the feeble-minded. And medieval literature, well, it's the reconstruction of fundamental rules on which modern literature has been proudly standing on for the past centuries. Ask one wrong question and who knows ? You might just have destroyed one of the most precious possessions of the English Crown.

He looks at Clara more than once, making sure she hasn't fled yet. And more than once, he finds her smiling, almost encouraging him to stand his ground and he doesn't know why, doesn't want to know why, but it comforts him. _Not a pudding brain then. Good._

The lecture comes to an end and he calls her name out, asking her to stay a bit longer. The blood drains from her face and he immediately regrets his own pettiness. But he wants her to stay , just to see if she's not giving up already and that he has not been making wrong assumptions for the past hour. So he asks the first dumb question he can thinks of and oddly enough, it's about his jacket. Never tell him he is not concerned by fashion.

After the first seconds of confusion, she goes back to being her cheeky self and he already knows he won't be able to let her go. He barely knows her and they haven't even mentioned the subject of his lectures once but you can't fight fate. He'll drag her by force if needs be but he won't begin a class if she's not here, smiling at him from the front row.

_Oh lord, what have I done ?_

She takes her cue and he smiles, his eyes following her like a second shadow.

He just knows this year will be something special.

"You know, a lady is usually offended when you don't call her back after promising her you would. Especially after she just told you she got married."

He turns and a mischievous smile reaches his lips.

"Well, we both know you're no lady so I don't see where the problem is, Professor Song."

She laughs and pinches him in the arm before kissing him on the cheek. She did always like his lack of manners. It matched her unforgiving tongue quite well, she thought.

" And you're no gentleman. So, what have you been up to, these past few months ? Have you finally met someone to compete with my charms and wits ? Or have you finally reach the conclusion that no such woman exist ?"

He sits behind his desk and opens the top drawer. He retrieves a beautifully wrapped gift and give it to her.

"Well, can't say that I have. But now that you're married, it's not like I can do anything about it. How's your husband ? Haven't run off yet ?"

She grabs the gift from his hand before tearing it apart. Never one for patience or decorum, this one. It's probably why she likes to dig up skeletons from their millennial tombs, she just can't forgive stillness when you can be running about.

It's also probably why her new husband looks like a twelve years old.

Her wedding gift is on how to mummify a body according to the ancient Egyptian custom. He's never been more proud of a gift.

" Are you trying to tell me I'm too old to get married ?" Her face is only centimetres from his, scrutinizing.

" Not at all. I just thought you might want to hang on to the poor chap as long as you could after you've driven him into an early grave. "

She throws her head back and laughs open-heartedly. " Oh Doctor, you know me too well. He'll adore it."

Her face blackens and she looks at the book, suddenly nervous. " Do you think we've made a mistake, getting married on a whim ? I mean, I love him and he loves me but we're hardly the same age. I don't regret it but I'm afraid he might, one day."

He doesn't answer right away because if he's honest, he had his doubts on the chap. I mean, who wears bowties in this day and age ?

But he's seen the two of them together. It's undeniable. They belong with each other. They give one another the thrill they've always sought in other people. And in the end, it's all that matters, that one quality you only seem to find in your kindred soul. Damn the age difference. And River has always dealt with the consequences of her choices with the grace he never had.

" You know, I was jealous the first time I saw you together. You were trying to intimidate him because he dared call you sexy and he wasn't backing up. You looked like trouble finding its magnet. We never looked like that and I knew you were not going to stick around very long. You were about to go wherever he went. I wouldn't say marrying him was the best idea not because I don't believe you can't pull it off but because I never believed in marriage in the first place."

He cups her face and kisses her forehead.

"You're happy, River. Fuck the idiots who can't deal with it. They're not worth it. Your husband can hold his own. I mean, who can wear such awful outfits and not be able handle themselves ? You're going to be more than fine, dear. You're going to be amazing."

She's almost crying and she pulls him into a hug, which he accepts awkwardly.

He had a hard time adjusting to the fact that she soon wouldn't be there, all flirt and no respect for personal space, always poking him around, keeping him on his toes.

" You're an idiot, Doctor. I'm sorry it wasn't the two of us. I really want you to be happy."

He finally reciprocates the embrace. " It wasn't meant to be. And who says I won't find myself a twenty year old to hold my hand when I cross the street, eh ?"

He feels her laughing through his body and he knows she'll be alright, running hand in hand with a big chinned, floppy haired lovesick idiot by her side.

She finally lets go of him, her eyes a bit red but smiling nonetheless. He believes he loved her once, in another life. It's long gone now but the affection is deeply rooted in his heart and he is glad to see her get what she deserves.

She kisses him one last time on the cheek, her book in her hands, before leaving without saying goodbye. It's better that way and he knows he'll see her again. He sighs and let himself fall into his armchair. Time to move on, then.

Clara is sitting at the coffee shop, writing furiously on her laptop, books all over her table. She just hasn't been able to stop herself since her first lecture with the Doctor. She knows she absolutely has to get it right. Not just because she doesn't want to find another lecture to attend, but because she doesn't want to disappoint him. She tries not to think too hard about the reason why. It would only throw her off her work and she's been rewriting her definition of medieval literature four times now.

Across from her table, Amy is getting slightly worried and exchanges discreet glances of concern with Rose.

" You know, it's just the first week of term, you don't have to make yourself bleed until the exams, right ?"

Amy's voice startles Clara and she almost spills her coffee before Rose catches it in extremis.

"What ?"

Rose speaks " Are you sure you're alright Clara ? You've been driving yourself crazy on that assignment. Martha told us she saw your light was still on at 3am last night. And it's your third cup of coffee."

Clara feels like she's been slapped and finally takes a look at her reflection in the window next to her. She looks like she's been murdered and brought back to life too many times to look human anymore. She curses herself for being so obviously affected by her professor. She feels like a teenager before prom night, on the verge of breakdown because she hasn't found a dress to wear. She closes the lid of her laptop after saving her work.

" I know, I'm sorry. It's just that I want to get it right. This new class seems really complicated and I don't want to muck it up just because I wasn't sufficiently prepared. But you're right, I'll take a break and review my work later. I'm almost sure I got it right this time around. God, look at my hair, you must think I'm crazy."

Rose laughs and Amy takes her hand : " Clara, I thought you were crazy from the moment I met you, it's not the problem. What I mean is : don't ruin yourself just yet on one class so soon. I'm sure your teacher won't mind if your first paper is not in iambic pentameter or something. It's only the beginning of term, you know ?"

Clara laughs " Please, iambic pentameter is for whims. Try Olden English and then we'll talk."

Rose bites her lip before asking : "Is he really that bad ?"

Clara sighs : " No, he is actually nice but he has high standards and he did warn us that not everybody would make it past the first three weeks. And I need a good recommendation if I want to try out for a PhD."

Amy gets up and takes away her laptop. " Well, I declare you have worked your ass out and that you deserve a night of fun. Let's call some people and have a nice dinner at the flat. That's an order, Oswald and Tyler."

Clara and Rose get up and mock salute : " Yes, ma'am."

It's late and everyone has finally gone back to their flats or to their room. Dinner was a great idea, and Clara can't remember the last time she's laughed so much in one evening. Rose's boyfriend, John, was up to his usual antics with his other partner in crime, Jack. Martha and Rory described an hilarious moment in dissection that got everyone rolling under the table and Amy and Rose decided to have a drinking contest against Jack. In the end, Clara was rather glad their friend's flat weren't so far from theirs, with everyone so drunk they couldn't spell their names right. Jack even kissed everyone full on the mouth just to make sure he wasn't hallucinating them, or so he said. " I mean, you're all so gorgeous, I have to check I'm not dreaming, it's only fair. John, come back, I have to check you again, you look far too amazing from behind, it's suspicious."

A small chuckle escaped her. Life really wasn't so bad. Then why did she still feel so lonely ?

Sleep and drunkenness got to her before she could formulate an answer to her silent question.


	3. Chapter 3

_Hello everyone ! Here's the third chapter coming your way ! Thank you to everyone who has reviewed/followed/favorited the story, that's really heart-warming. For those who are following my other story, Closed Doors and Open Curtains, I'm still working on the next chapter, but it's a tricky one._

_Love xx, Callie._

Chapter Three :

Clara fought the impulse of getting to class too early, afraid to rouse her flatmates' suspicions. She had reviewed her work and decided that it was as good as it was going to be and left it at that, shakily signing her name at the top of the paper.

" Good luck for your class, Clara". Martha was already up , working on some paper for her microbiology class. Clara smiled and reciprocated the feeling for her work, trying not to seem in a hurry to get out of the flat. She locked herself in the bathroom one last time, just to be sure her light make-up hadn't smeared between the last time she checked and her last cup of coffee. No disaster there, she was good to go. Her handbag on her shoulder and her keys in her hand, she closed the door behind her and tried not to run to university.

She failed miserably.

Finally coming up the stairs of the English department, out of breath and swearing she would take up Rose on her offer to come and jog with her the next time she asked, she suddenly had the awful feeling she had forgotten her work on her desk. She abruptly halted herself in the deserted main hall ( it was only ten to eight and most classes didn't begin before nine, except hers, obviously), searching frantically through her handbag. "Please, please, don't tell me I fucked up on something so idiotic."

" Well, I certainly hope not, that would be very disappointing."

She jumped at the sound of the Scottish accent right behind her. She turned and saw a dark woolly jumper mapped with the milky way stars holding a steaming cup of tea. She lifted her head and there he was, all smirking and unapologetically fresh-looking so early in the morning. She tried to remember how to breath.

" Is that what you do then ? Creep up on unsuspecting students and try to make them have a heart attack before yours goes out ? Or is it just me ?"

He put his hand to his heart and tried to look wounded. " Are you trying to tell me I'm old ? Wasn't the comment on my fashion sense offensive enough ?"

She crossed her arms to her chest, standing her ground. " I'm trying to tell you your hobbies are not very healthy for those around you. And you haven't answered my question."

He chuckled and went past her, opening the door to the lecture hall for her : " I'm afraid it's just you, my dear. I've never something so small jump so high. It's very… distracting." _That's not the only thing distracting_, he thought. "And you haven't answered mine. Do you really think I'm that old to have a heart attack ?" He seemed concerned.

"First, I am NOT small. 5'2 is perfectly average for young women. I am just not prone to wear heels. Second, you teach medieval literature. I just assumed you had first-hand knowledge in what you were teaching. I mean, with that outfit, Myrddin* must have been a good friend of yours."

He looked at her very carefully and she bit her lip, wondering if she had not crossed a line. He put his hand into his pockets, his red lapels flaring at her, dangerous and hypnotic.

" You should be careful around magicians, Ms. Oswald. They might cast a spell on you and turn you into something unpleasant." He lowered his face to her ear. " We wouldn't want that, would we ?"

She shivered and cursed herself for being so easily affected.

" Are you threatening me ? Because I'm telling you, you'll have to do far worse if you want to frighten me. Never make threat if you can't deliver, Doctor. Or I might just not believe a word you say. And there where would we be ?"

He smirked and brushed her arm. " I wouldn't dare menacing you. You seem far too clever to believe in empty threats." He smiled gently and she felt the heat pooling in her lower belly. " Do you have the paper I asked for ? Better get it over with, eh ?"

She had completely forgotten about that darn paper. She turned her back to him and put her bag on his desk, resuming her search. Relief ran down her spine when she recognised her red folder. She opened it and found her work inside. She eyed him suspiciously.

" Are you really going to ask some people to leave if their work is not satisfying ? It's a bit harsh, so early in the semester."

He took her work and put it on the desk. "Which is why I prefer to do it now. The earliest they leave, the less difficulty they'll have at finding a new lecture to attend. I'm not heartless, Clara. I don't take any pleasure in asking them to leave. But I don't think staying in a class they don't belong to is of any help to them. Are you scared ?" She smiled. " I'm not scared. I think I did really well on this paper. And I don't think you're heartless. But maybe you're asking too much too early."

She took her bag and got to her chair, noticing a few students had already got in while they were talking. She noted that the Doctor did not try to justify himself. Had she hit a sensitive spot ? She organised her desk and tried not to look directly at him, afraid of what she might see in his expression. She sat and browse through one of her books. It was going to be a long lecture.

The Doctor's warning had been effective. Less people were in attendance that day and all those who were here had been very eager to submit their work at the end of the class, almost afraid that a lack of enthusiasm would not go amiss and cost them points with their teacher.

Clara, would have already given her paper, tried to gather her pens and books as quickly and quietly as possible, trying to leave the room unremarked. She believed she had succeeded after exiting the premises of the university when she heard her name, called across the street. The Doctor finally approached her, a bit restless " I don't usually defend myself or the manner I teach to my students; I think it's a loss of time and energy and frankly, I have better things to do. But in this case, you're right. I do ask a lot of my students. But it's only because I honestly care about what I do and what you're going to do with what I teach you. High standards have to be asked for if they are to be reached. I don't care for mediocre and maybe it's not the best way to teach but at least, I know I'm giving my very best so that you can give your very best. That's it, I'm sorry if I startled you. I just wanted to be sure we were on the same page. And I've read the beginning of your paper. You don't have to worry about anything. I think you're going to be just fine. That is, if you care to come back to class next week."

She felt guilty that he had to run to justify himself to her. He was right to ask high standard. His class was really something else compared to what she had seen and heard with the other professors.

" I'm sorry I confronted you on your teaching. I really shouldn't have, it's not my place to judge. Please accept my apologies. I'd be delighted to come back next week. You're clearly the best professor I've had since the beginning of college. My comment was unwarranted."

He smiled sheepishly. " The best, eh ?"

She laughed. " Well, maybe I was a bit fast to compliment. But you're definitely not the worst."

"Thank you, I feel so much better now." He said dryly. She fidgeted on her feet, not sure how to formulate her next question. " Would you… I mean, if it's not any bother or anything.. would you care for some coffee ? I don't have a class until this afternoon and I could really use a cuppa. Also, it would make me feel less awful about myself if I could make amend by bribing you with caffeine. Or tea ! It's really your choice."

" Well, as long as it's my choice." He follows her in the coffee shop at the corner of the street.

She pays for his earl grey after she refuses to let him pay for her coffee. It was actually a rather long argument and the barista was so fed up with the two of them, she just took Clara's cash and decided for them both. They had the presence of mind to look rather embarrassed by their public outburst of politeness. They sit at a table at the end of the establishment and she can't stop herself from asking if he had really read the beginning of her paper.

" It's just that I didn't see you look at it. I'm rather curious." He sips at his tea. "Well, if you hadn't spent the entirety of my lecture trying to avoid looking in my direction, you would have noticed that the paper I was holding for most of the class was actually your paper, Ms. Oswald."

She blushes furiously and wishes she could drown in her coffee. " Touché. For what it's worth, I _am_ really sorry for my behaviour. I wasn't sure how to conduct myself around you. Actually, I'm not sure I even know now. I don't usually have to apologize to my professors. Or invite them for coffee afterwards. It's all rather unexpected."

He leans over a bit and she can smell his aftershave and _damn it, girl, control yourself. _" Well, I'm glad you don't make an habit of taking out your professors."

Her eyes almost get out of their orbits. " I am _not _taking you out. That is, I am, but it is mostly to apologizes for my appalling behaviour. And because I was curious about my paper." She stops herself before resuming talking " Dear god, I sound like an overly opportunistic student, don't I ?"

He has the curtesy of not overtly mocking her. But his eyes tell a different story and she knows she is making a fool of herself. What ever happened to common sense and clever silences ?

" Don't worry. I've seen overly opportunistic student. You can't hold a candle to them." She huffs. " So much for eagerness. And you still haven't told me anything about my paper."

" Well, I haven't finished to read it, have I ? And eagerness has nothing to do with opportunism. Trust me, I know how to spot the difference, you're one of the good girls."

She is oddly pleased by that comment but also a bit disappointed. Is it really everything she is to him ? _One of the good girls. _She can already see that sentence following her everywhere like an unwanted shadow. _Look, that's the good girl_. She decides to remedy to the situation immediately, before it becomes a problem.

" A good girl, eh ? Well, I wouldn't be too sure about that if I were you. I'm pretty sure my good girls days have gone and died a long time ago." She leans over as well. " So don't get too comfortable, Doctor. I might just give you a hell of a ride, just so I can say "I told you so.""

Their faces a centimetres apart and she wonders if he would taste as good as he smells. Meanwhile, he ponders how much in trouble he would be for publicly kissing one of his students, not two weeks into the year. In the end, Clara does the right thing and pulls away from him, suddenly relieved she didn't take it any further. _Not like that_, she thinks. Not if she wants a _that_ to exist one day.

On the other side of the table, the Doctor slaps himself mentally and thanks his lucky star that Clara was strong for the both of them. _Was she really ? _Or did he just invent the look in her eyes ?

He doesn't have time to ponder on the question because his phone goes off and it's his friend Donna. "I'm sorry, I have to get that."

Clara has just the time to see the woman's name on his phone and the most treacherous question comes to stab her in the back_. What if he has someone ? _The call lasts less than a minute and he comes back to their table, looking apologetic. " I'm really sorry but I have to go. Thank you for the tea, it was very kind." He gathers his jacket and his briefcase

. " And don't worry about that darn paper, I think we both know it was meant more for the others than you. I'll see you next week, goodbye Clara." He touches her shoulder with his hand when he goes while she just reciprocates his goodbye, a little shell-shocked.

She finishes her coffee as fast as she can without burning her tongue and makes her way out of the place, wishing to put the whole encounter behind her as soon as she could.

After two other lectures, she is finally back at the flat and it is blissfully silent. It's only 4pm and the girls are probably still in class or with their boyfriends. She sits at the kitchen table and gives up to her inner enemy by firing up her laptop and researching the Doctor's profile on the university website, just to see if there is any indication as to his relationship status. While the search engine makes its way through the data, Clara feels a pang of guilt and shame.

Was she really looking up one of her teachers just to see if it was okay to shag him ? When did she fell so low in her own esteem ? She was supposed to make sure she would qualify for a PhD, not a one night stand !

The Doctor's page finally appears. There is absolutely no allusion to any relationship status whatsoever. Well, what did she think ? It's an academic website, not Facebook. She mentally slaps herself over the head. _You can't go on like that, Clara. One carnal relationship with one's professor is not worth putting your future career at risk. Wife or no wife._

Her decision is made. From now on, she would be her most irreproachable self. Which meant no more witty banter or coffee with the Doctor. Just a normal student/professor relationship.

Somehow, she doubted it would be that easy.

_*Myrddin is one of the early names of Merlin_


	4. Chapter 4

_Hello everyone ! First, I'd like to thank all of those wha have continued to show their support for this story and my writing, it's simply amazing. You're all wonderful._

_Second, I've chosen to make the Doctor and Donna brother and sister but we'll see in a next chapter that it's more complicated than it seems. So don't be too cross with me._

_Anyway, enjoy the chapter ;)_

Chapter four :

The Doctor almost curses Donna when he gets to her home and her "emergency" is just a leak in her bathroom. " For God's sake Donna, I'm a professor not a plumber. Can't you call a professional, like any normal human being ?"

Wrong move, Donna is not in the mood to be ordered around. " I have tried that already, SpaceMan, but the guy told me he couldn't be there until 6pm and believe it or not, I don't have all day to wait for an idiot who will take 60 pounds from me after three minutes under my sink. And don't you speak to me like that, we both know you don't have class until late this afternoon, so don't act as if I were interrupting something important."

He grumbles and take off his coat before kneeling down on the floor, looking under the sink. " Couldn't Andy help ?I thought he was in town this week ?" Donna sighs and really, what is she going to do with a man who can remember obscure details about English literature but not his own brother in law's big case at Court ? " You know very well he is busy. And does it really bothers you so much to help your own sister ? It's not like you were doing anything life-changing."

He finally spots the problem and applies some waterproof tape on the leak. He gets up.

" The leak is sealed up but I can't do much more. You need a new drain, this one is too damaged. Don't use it until you've had it replaced. And what makes you say I'm not doing something important ? Maybe I was in the middle of something urgent ?"

She laughs and puts the kettle on. " Yeah, like what ? Talking to yourself ? Or worse, to a girl ?" Her laugh amplifies and he looks away, blushing. He curses himself when he hears her cry of surprise. " Oh. My. God. You were ! You were talking to a girl. Tell me everything. What's her name ? Is she pretty ? Does she likes books ? Does she looks like one ?" She looks far too smug for his own comfort and he refuses to answer any of her questions until she calms herself. Finally, she stops laughing and looks serious. " I 'm sorry, I shouldn't have mocked you. But you hardly talk about these things. And god knows you need someone else after that Professor Melody or something went away with that skinny pretty boy." "It's Professor Song and don't. Please. And there's nothing to tell, she's far too young for me."

" What, is she one of your students or something ?" He doesn't say anything and it's answer enough. " Oh, Doctor, you know it's not a good idea. What if she says something to someone or if she's not sincere ? You can never know at that age…"

He gets up and puts his coat on. " Well, don't worry, nothing has happened. I doubt she sees me like that anyway. But you're right. I'll be careful. It's probably nothing anyway. Just a bit of harmless flirt. Nothing to worry about." He says that last sentence as he exits the house and they both know he doesn't really believe it.

Fuck, what has he done ?

Amy is not someone suspicious by nature. But, as would say Rory, she has _instincts._ He swears she always knows when he's been out with this mates without her and "conveniently forgot" to tell her. Or when his mother called and tried to set him up with one of her friend's daughter ( Rory's mother has never really warmed up to Amelia. Even though they've been childhood friends. Go figure. Fortunately, Brian, Rory's dad, never agreed with his wife. Amy adores him.)

So, when she arrived to the flat he shares with another of his classmates and an engineering student named Mickey, he instantaneously checks with himself what he's done wrong this week. And is beyond confused when he finds absolutely nothing to be afraid of. So why on earth does she looks like she's on the war path ? She sits next to him on the couch and he asks, reformulating his question before opening his mouth : " You seem.. bothered with something ?" ( He remembers the days when he could ask a question like that and not fear for his life. Love is a dangerous thing, he thinks.)

" I think something's wrong with Clara." Rory almost laughs in relief. _Not me, then. _" She's not been herself these past few days. Haven't you noticed anything ?"

Rory shrugs. " No, but I don't live with her. Maybe you should ask her, rather than make assumptions ? It's not like you've known her that long. Did Rose or Martha say anything to you ?"

Amy takes a biscuit from the plate in front of him and eat it first before answering. " No, they say she's like that sometimes. But they agreed that it hasn't happened since Nina has left." "Who's Nina ?" "My predecessor in the flat. She was good friends with Clara. Apparently they had an odd friendship."

Rory sighs and goes back to reading his book. " Well, there you go. Maybe she misses her. And she doesn't want to say because she's afraid to hurt your feelings." Amy puts her head on his shoulder. "Hmm… maybe you're right." Rory rolls his eyes and really, he should feel annoyed but it's like he's lost the ability to be reproachful at her since they've started dating. " You're not going to let it go, are you ?" He feels her grin and he sincerely pities Clara. " Nope." She kisses him soundly on the cheek and leaves the flat as quickly as she entered it.

It's been three weeks since their coffee together and Clara has taken the habit of sitting at the back of the class and arriving as late as she could without actually being late. She's never been felt so stupid in her life, avoiding a professor that has been nothing but charming to her. _Maybe a little too charming, Oswald._ She sighs and she tries to dismiss all thoughts of her and the Doctor, sitting in that coffee shop, almost kissing. And it's the "almost" that gets her every time. The "what ifs" and everything in between, torturing her and tantalising her at the same time. She can still smell his after shave and the warmth of his body so close to her. It's unbearable and she can't get enough. When has she become so dependent ?

She hates herself for her behaviour. Amy is looking at her when she thinks she can't see her and Martha and Rose think she's back at being her old self, miserable about Nina or her mother. She doesn't want to tell them that the problem is elsewhere. Something in her heart has been unleashed and for the life of her, she doesn't understand how it has happened.

They have hardly _talked_ to one another. They flirted a bit, yes, but it's not like it's the first time she's done that with another man. She cannot fathom why she can't let go of him and keep imagining the most incredible scenarios, where she kisses him, where he kisses her, and all is right in the world. Surely, you cannot fall for someone you've had three discussions with ?

She looks at her books and thinks of courteous love and magic philtres and she thinks maybe it's their fault, all these lovesick heroes, right and just and blinded by love until they die an untimely death or forget their loved ones after a spell.

But also, she knows she's not just imagining things when she catches him looking at her and suddenly, the room takes a darker shade. She knows that whatever happened between them that day, it shifted something within them, a deeper truth that neither of them is ready to admit and it makes her sad, to know that two human beings, fuelled by their emotions and the books they read and live by, cannot seem to comprehend or act upon their feelings.

The class is dismissed and she look at the other students, considerably less numerous since the first lecture, leave one by one their chairs and gather their belongings. A blonde girl approaches the Doctor's desk and starts speaking to him, playing with her hair and laughing with him. She feels a treacherous needle making a hole in her heart and she can't take it. She almost run out of the lecture hall, not looking at any of them and she wonders, on the verge of tears, if that's how he saw her : young and foolish, incapable of knowing anything about love but what she's read in her books, flirting her way through university.

She feels a hand gripping her arm and she is shoved in a deserted office, not aware of what's happening to her. The door closes behind her, she turns abruptly, ready to shout at whomever manhandled her into another room and he is there looking furious and breathing heavily. Her heart skips one, two, three beats and she can't talk, her throat has dried and her anger has left her body weightless and powerless. He moves faster than she's ever seen him and all at once, her his hands are cupping her face and his lips are on hers, his tongue already breaching the barrier of her teeth and the will of moving has resurfaced and she grabs his shirt from one hand, opens her mouth hot under his and rakes her fingernails through his hair with her second hand. It's perfect. They complete each other like two piece of a complicated, stubborn, gorgeous puzzle and they can't stop themselves. She moans, he bites her lip, she thrust her hips and he grabs her ass. She's dreaming and he's trespassing and nothing exists but them. It doesn't last.

They hear footsteps coming from the corridor and she makes the mistake of looking away. He breaks away from her, picks up his briefcase from the floor ( she didn't even see him throw it away) and he leaves the room, without so much as a goodbye or a word of explanation. A few seconds later, the only proof of what transpired between them is the feeling of her lips swollen and his aftershave, still hanging in the air and on her skin. She opens the door as well and finds her way back to her flat, the muscle memory doing the work of her brain. She finally reaches her bedroom and sits on her chair, thinking her first coherent thought in twenty minutes: _I've never been kissed like that._

Amy comes back from her last class of the day feeling exhausted and _god, what is that smell ? _She goes directly to the kitchen where she finds Clara in the middle of baking/burning a soufflé and she really needs to tell her the security deposit is not optional for some of them.

" Ah! Amy ! I'm sorry, I think I messed up with the recipe again, it's meant to be far more consistent or it burns before its time. Did you have a good day ?"

Clara's cheeriness is strange but Amy tries not to call her out on that. It feels nice to see her smile after weeks of moping around. But now she knows that it's not her, whatever Rory says. Clara's been hiding something and she's going to find out what.

" I'm great, thank you. A bit done for the day but nothing unusual. What about you ? Everything fine ? "

Clara clears up the kitchen counter and smiles even more. " Oh yeah, I'm great. Are you eating with Martha and I tonight ? Rose's going out with John, it's their anniversary."

"Yeah, why not. Rory's got some work to finish anyway. Do you want some help with the cooking ?"

Clara shakes her head. " No, it's fine. I'll manage." Amy takes her cue and goes directly to Rose's room. The blonde girl looks up at her and Amy talks before she can ask any question : "I think Clara has someone."

He comes back home and he is a mess. He doesn't know what went through his head and now, he has probably scared Clara for life. He tries to remember how he got into this mess but nothing sticks. It's all a blur. He just sees Clara, looking like death and avoiding his gaze, running out of the class and his legs taking control of his body. He just has the time to grab his briefcase before running after her. He finds her again, down the corridor and he can't talk to her here, in front of everyone, so he takes his chance when he sees that no one is looking in their direction.

He takes her arm, opens the office of an absent professor and shoves her in.

She spins and he sees her eyes red and her hair undone and her lips so pink and he can't resist. It's like gravity. He remembers his dream and the light of the star blinding him into awakening and she's so much more beautiful and brighter than in his dream.

His body takes control over his crumbling will that has been keeping him away from her all these weeks. He kisses her and it feels like coming home after a long, arduous journey. Ulysses had it easy, he thinks. " Heureux qui comme Ulysse a fait un long voyage"* Du Bellay used to say. Well, fuck that. The gods and the sea seem pathetic compared to what he had to endure in order to meet Clara Oswald and he almost laughs, because he knows next to nothing about the girl but he already knows that what he had with the other women, even River, is nothing compared to what he is about to have with her. He bites her lip after she moans and he wants to have her right there on the desk but she moves her head and the spell is broken.

After that, he only remember running and not looking back. To be quite honest, he doesn't even remember how he got home and he doesn't care. It's already dark outside and he goes to his room, get rid of his shoes and some of his clothes before collapsing on the bed, wishing for the world to end in fire.

*Happy he who like Ulysses has returned successful from his travels", (or had a long journey, which is my favorite translation.); this is extracted from one of Du Bellay's sonnets, as part of his collection called The Regrets. It's beautiful, I heartily recommend it.


	5. Chapter 5

_Hello everyone ! Sorry this took longer than the last times to update but I just got back home and travelling doesn't agree with writing. This one is slightly longer than the others so I hope we're even ;) Thank you again for the great support you've given me, your reviews are the best moment of my day. I still don't know how long the story will be as I write the chapters as they come and post them almost immediately, so we'll see. Anyway, enjoy this one ;)_

Chapter 5 :

She awakens because she has to. The striking sound of the alarm clock is unforgiving after a night of constant turn overs and unquiet mind and she almost decides not to go to class this morning. A minute later, she gets up anyway, because what can you do ? She has to wait a week before she sees him again and she cannot picture herself barging into his office, asking for an explanation and possibly, an encore.

She looks at herself in the bathroom mirror and her eyes fall on her lips. She bites the lower one, an unconscious gesture, a reminder of what it felt, the day before, with him all over her and_ God, get a grip, Oswald._

The necessary cold water on her body is a godsend. Her nightgown was still sticking to her wanting body when she got it off and the shower refreshes her limbs as well as her mind.

She knows his flight after their kiss wasn't insignificant. She doesn't know what pushed him to act upon his feelings when they so clearly tried to pass it off as an innocent flirt. And she can only imagine what when through his head when he decided to leave her on her own less than a minute after his original change of heart.

She wants to see him. They have to talk and discuss what happened and yet, she doubts that it's a good idea. She doesn't know if she'll be able to control herself if she sees him and she hates herself for that. She doesn't want to become one of these girls in insipid movies, unable to have a hold of her actions because of another man. She doesn't want to use that excuse. She is stronger than that. She prides herself on her level-headedness. She needs a plan and right now, she has none.

The cold shower becomes too much and she steps out of the cubicle before she catches a cold.

In the kitchen, Martha and Amy are drinking their tea and speaking quietly. They stop when Clara enters the room. " Hey girl, do you have time for breakfast before going ?" Amy smiles at her, taping on the seat next to her. Martha smiles as well, but it's more awkward. Clara sits anyway, she can certainly do with a cuppa.

Amy talks first and Clara regrets staying almost immediately. " So, I see you've been pretty cheerful since yesterday. Something you want to share with the rest of the class ?" She winks.

Clara sips her tea and tries not to defend herself " What do you mean ?". Martha and Amy exchange looks. So they're definitely into this together. Clara wonders if is Rose is in it as well. "Nothing, just, you know, you've been pretty quiet for some times and yesterday it was all… soufflés and smiles. Just wondering if you had any particular reason to be cheerful ?"

Clara sighs and she tries her best not to be rude. She knows they mean no harm but she's not in the mood to talk about it. " No reason at all. I just had a good day and I thought I'd share some homemade pastries with you guys. Anyway, I have to be going. I've got Modernism class today and I can't afford to be late." Amy catches her hand before she goes. " You know you can talk to us, right ? Any of us. We're here for you, lassie." Clara feels a surge of guilt mixed with gratefulness. " I know. I'll see you tonight, ok ?" Martha gives her a croissant to eat on the way to university and Clara exits the kitchen, her tea half-finished and her heart even more swollen than before.

* * *

She doesn't listen. Her mind is elsewhere, Virginia Woolf, Vita Sackville-West and _Orlando_ fail to retain her attention the way they're supposed to. Instead, she wonders how one person can really influence another one the way Vita did with Virginia. She sighs and her pen wanders on her notebook, making waves and patterns with no beginning or end.

" Nigel Nicholson, the son of Vita Sackville-West and Harold Nicholson, described _Orlando_ as the most romantic love letter of all times. I'd be inclined to think so myself but everyone has their own opinion on the matter. "

Clara raises her head abruptly. She doesn't know how she heard that sentence in the mess of thoughts assaulting her since yesterday but she's glad she caught it. A letter or a note might actually be a good idea. It would prevent any awkward meeting in class and they could arrange a rendezvous outside of university, far away from prying eyes.

Professor Flint finishes her lecture twenty minutes later and Clara has her note written. Now, she has to deliver it to his letterbox at the English Department. She just hopes no one will be there to see her but she doesn't exactly have a choice. She chooses to go during lunch when mostly everyone is at the cafeteria or eating outside.

Shaking a bit, she arrives in the deserted main room and locates his box right away. It has an impressive "Doctor" written in deep blue all over it. She slips the note inside it and turns right away, trying not to think about it as a mistake. She almost runs out of the room, cheeks deeply flushed and looking down. _Please, please, don't make me regret this._

She doesn't feel like going back to the flat and ventures into unknown streets, unsure of where to go and what to do with herself. _The ball is in your court, Doctor._

* * *

He sits in his office, grading some papers and puts a 95 on top of one of them. _Not bad at all._ He looks at the name at the top and really, what did he expect : C. Oswald.

He expires loudly and sits back, his hands covering his face. He can still feel her body against his, the light scent of honeysuckle in her hair and down her neckline. Suddenly, he feels trapped and has to get some air, so he opens the window, breathing in and out the smell of Clara Oswald. He has to see her but he doesn't know how, never asking for his students' email, technology being the ban of his existence.

He could probably ask one of his younger colleagues but he doesn't want to raise eyebrows or make up a lie just because of his stupidity.

He goes back to his desk and decides to open his mail. He doesn't see it immediately, engrossed in a letter from an oversea colleague, asking him to give a series of lectures next term on French Medieval literature. He almost replies with an affirmative letter right away but he holds himself back, conscious that he wouldn't make this decision for the right reasons. And anyway, he has to ask the board first. Bloody administration.

The small note falls on his lap when he bins some publicity for a Mozart concert at the university chapel. His heart skips a few beats when he recognizes what it is.

_Meet me at the park outside the Presbyterian church at 7pm tomorrow evening. Clara O._

He pockets the note and thanks heaven for not having to wait another six days to explain himself. Not that he is sure that there is anything to explain. He sighs and tries not to count the hours before tomorrow evening.

* * *

Clara feels exhausted and sleeps like the dead that night. Her flatmates don't even question her when she doesn't come to the kitchen to breakfast with them the following morning. It's Wednesday and she doesn't have any lecture today. So she allows herself to sleep until ten o'clock, not quite ready to face the sun quite yet. She finally comes out of her bedroom, freshly showered and wearing her blue dress. Rose is still in the living room when she gets there, reading and taking notes. She smiles at her. John is in the kitchen, experimenting on the toaster or rather " trying to fix it", as he puts it. She chuckles and almost informs him that nothing's wrong with it but Rose's stare convinces her otherwise. _Let him have his fun_. She shakes her head. One day he'll try to fix the phone and make a time machine of it. She wonders if astronomy is the right subject for him but she doesn't push the matter. _To each his own_. She smiles back at Rose.

"We're going to see a movie tonight. Do you want to come ? Jack said he might come as well."

Clara bites her inner cheek, trying to sound casual. " Sorry, I've got plans tonight. Maybe another time ?" Rose raises one eyebrow. Clara can almost hear her reply but the toaster makes the strangest noise and Rose reports her attention on the ten years old behind Clara.

" For heaven's sake, I told you not to toy with it." John whimpers in protest and tries to defend himself. It's not his fault if the girls never buy more resistant kitchen applications. Clara doesn't hear the rest of the argument, taking advantage of the situation to leave the room and five minutes later, the flat.

She buys a sandwich and a cup of tea before heading to the library, hoping to get some work done today. It's merely a distraction from thinking too much about her meeting with the Doctor but she succeeds anyway, reading her way through the afternoon and researching for some papers she wants to finish before the week-end. After a few breaks and a well-deserved coffee, she finally gets most of her work done and the clock indicates 6:30pm already. She tries not to run out of the library, wanting to arrive before him at the park.

She has thought about what she wants to tell him. She doesn't want the Doctor to explain himself. She knows what happened, even if it took some time for her to come to this conclusion and accept it. She won't pressure him into a relationship either, if this is not what he wants. But she needs to talk to him, to assure him that everything is fine between them and that he doesn't have to fear that she might babble what transpired two days ago. She knows she likes him more she should. She is also certain that these feelings can only grow. _Please, let him be there._

She arrives five minutes early and there's no sign of him yet. She sits on one of the benches and looks around, making sure no one she knows is there. She remembers Rose asking her to come with the others to see a movie and she is relieved that she probably won't run into any of them f they're busy elsewhere.

She plays with the hems of her dress, getting a bit cold. It's late October and she should have thought better of it this morning, her woollen tights not being very effective against the autumn breeze. The days are shorter and it's already getting dark. She shivers. Maybe it's not just the cold after all…

" Don't you have a coat or something ? You look like an icicle."

She gets up involuntarily. She should really stop doing that. He gets out of his coat and puts it on her shoulders. It's far too big for her and she really should say no but it smells like him, so she just voices a small "thank you" before sitting back. She takes him in. He looks worn, as if he hadn't slept well or eaten since they'd seen each other. She admonishes herself for not asking him someplace warmer but her fear of being recognized had been too strong at the time.

" Clara, I'd like to apologize, my behaviour was-"

She cuts him " Please don't. I don't want you to apologize. There is absolutely nothing to be sorry for. You have nothing to reproach yourself for. I… I was more than happy… I mean… It was nice."

He sits straighter. "Nice ?"

God, it's more complicated than she first foresaw. " I mean, if you just came here to apologize for the kiss, it's not necessary. I was a very willing participant. My only concern is that… you might not want to speak to me again. Which I would understand perfectly, but I'd rather not ?" She formulates the last part as a question, putting the choice in his hands. She knows he has more to lose than she does. It's only fair that he should decides. Is it not ?

One of his hands goes through his hair, dishevelling it. Clara's nails scratch the bench, holding back an impulse to do the same.

" Clara, I would love nothing more than speak to you as much as you'd let me. But I'm not sure if it's a good idea. You're young and a student of mine and-"

Her anger flares up. If there was one thing Nina never could compete with, it's her temperament. She really appreciates him and doesn't want to be a burden but she's not a little girl either.

" If you say that I don't know what I want because of my "young" age, you've got another thing coming, Doctor. I may not have graduated yet, but if you think it means that I'm so easily distracted, then maybe you should keep your reasons for some brainless _blonde _girl with daddy issues. I will not be treated like a five years old throwing a tantrum."

She's gotten up during her tirade and she tries to catch her breath. His jaw clenches. She is not the only one with the temperament. " I'm not saying you're not old enough to make your own bloody decisions. But I'm your professor. You're my student. What do you think will happen by the end of the year, when you get your results and move on, away from university ? What do I do ? Wave you goodbye at the train station ?" By that point they're both standing up. He is dangerously looming over her while his coat makes her appear even smaller. She doesn't flinch.

" I just explained to you that I cared about you and all you're concerned about is what will happen when I get my results?" She takes his hand, because if there's one thing literature taught her, it's to read between the lines. "Doctor, when I say I'm old enough to know what I'm doing, it's not just me trying to make a point. If there's any chance of being an "us", well, it implies that I'll never take that bloody train in the first place. Not if you're staying." She squeezes her fingers around him, trying to make him understand the impossibility of her leaving, not if he'll have her. She's in too deep already.

He kisses her because he's got no reason not to. She is here, pledging her future to him even though there's no certainty in this hellish world and he can't not believe every single word she says.

She opens her mouth, hot against his, smiling and laughing and _finally, you have come to reason. You've come home to me._

He holds her tightly, his fingers deepening into her clothed skin, never wanting to let go. Reality, however, waits for no man. Her phone rings and she grunts between his lips. She doesn't answer but it's enough to make them stop. She is flushed and he looks like thunder. She wants to chain him to her bed and throw the key into the Thames. The feeling is mutual. He speaks first :

"Maybe we should take this somewhere private. Have dinner, a drink… speak ?" His cheeks redden, the lack of practice showing. She giggles. "I'd like that. A dinner, a drink.. speak." She is mocking him and he can't even pretend to be mad. " Very well, Oswald. You've got the three." She smiles and all is well in the world.

"Lucky me."


	6. Chapter 6

_Well, well, well. This is the longest chapter I've written so far for this story. It got a bit out of hand but I had a very specific idea for this chapter and I hope I got it right. This will take us a bit deeper into Clara's real state of mind. And since I like my stories to a be a bit bittersweet... Well, you'll see ;) So sorry for the longer time it takes me to update, but college is getting back in the way and I have a lot to do to make sure everything works out for my first year as postgraduate. I've received and loved all your reviews, sorry I haven't been able to answer them. I'll do better this time around, promise. To all of those who have favorited and followed, thank you as well ! The story is getting far more audience than I'd previously dared to hope. It's wonderful ! As for the length of the story, I want to take it until the end of school year for Clara and the Doctor. So, get ready to have at least 6 other chapters ;) Love, Callie xxx_

Chapter 6 :

She arrives at his place early. They had agreed the day before that they probably shouldn't wait to discuss the whole situation. Clara couldn't have been more relieved to hear these words. She was hopeless at waiting around to have an answer at her questions. She guessed that he was probably in the same predicament.

Not sure if she should wait a few minutes or ring his interphone right away, she checks the time a second time, just to be sure she hasn't made a mistake. ( she knows she's not mistaken, but her nerves are getting the best of her.)

Ten minutes early – well it's not like he is unacquainted with her punctuality. She rings and crosses her fingers without knowing why. The door opens on its own less than five seconds later, some kind of electronic device activating the lock from a distance. She carefully steps inside, not sure whether she is more afraid of breaking something by her intrusion or breaking herself by her boldness.

Because it does feel bold to be here, as if she'd taken a leap forward she hadn't known she could make – or could have been taken at all.

She closes the door behind her, not willing to let the cold air come in with her. She also appreciates the fact that she can put a physical barrier between them and the outside world, just the time of a dinner.

The hallway is dark. The lack of windows leaves Clara struggling to find the light switch. A search that she promptly abandons as she hurts a fingernail against one of the wooden panels. She begins to walk slowly towards the other side of the hallway. There's no sight of the Doctor and Clara wonders what is holding him from coming to greet her. She knows she has the right address – and if she had any doubt, the books lying here and there on the floor achieve to betray the house owner's serious penchant for literature. Her hand stays near the wall, without touching it, while she concentrate on not tripping over some very dead author's masterpiece. She finally sees the end of the corridor leading to a staircase.

At the top, the door is closed but there's some light filtering from under it. And is that Bowie she hears too ? She smiles – definitely the right house.

The first step creaks under her weight and she nearly jumps. _Pull yourself together, Oswald. It's a date, not The Shining. _And just as she is scolding herself, the door at the top of the stairs bolts open. She congratulates herself for stopping herself from shouting. She glares at the familiar silhouette before noticing his casual wear. Damn it, a man like him shouldn't be allowed to wear light T-shirts. Or dark jeans. Or anything really.

" There you are, I was getting worried. Did you lost your way in my corridor ?" His smirk is barely visible as the light comes from behind, shadowing his face, but she knows it's there. He gets down the stairs and takes her hand to help her up.

" Not at all. I was just figuring out which writer should be my demise before I trip over one of his novels. In your _unlit_ corridor."

They are finally in his living room and she can now see him properly. His other hand reaches into his unruly grey curls as she wants to do the same. His first hand still hasn't let go of hers. " Ah, yes. Sorry about the light. I've never found the time to install a lamp downstairs" He looks down at his feet. She smiles at the small lie, squeezing his hand : "Trying to kill me before dinner, Doctor ? That's not very polite." He laughs and looks at her once again. " Me ? I would never ! Not when I've made lasagnes anyway. And I've rescued you from my murderous books, haven't I ?"

She lets go of his hand reluctantly and turns around, taking the room in. It's spacious and brightly lit by the French windows leading to the balcony. It has books everywhere as well, tidily arranged on bookshelves or carelessly lying around on chairs or tables. There's a piano as well and a frankly impressive armour in one corner. On the other side of the room, a heavenly smell comes out of the kitchen. Her stomach grumbles silently and she hopes it will stay that way until dinner is served.

She picks a random book from a chair, feigning an interest : " I rescued myself, thank you very much. I'm no damsel in distress and you're no saviour. The armour doesn't make the knight, Doctor."

He smiles almost too knowingly and doesn't reply, silently agreeing that she won that round before heading to the kitchen, checking out the oven.

"Well, if Miss. Oswald will be so kind as to help me lay the table, dinner is about to be served."

They move some books from the large table unto some other available space. " Don't worry, I'll put them back where they belong later " he says after she asks where they're supposed to go. She chuckles slightly and she wonders how someone so well organized at the university, can be so untidy in his own house.

They put the plates and cutlery on the table silently, their movements almost familiar, a choreography of unsuspected domesticity.

Bowie can be heard in the background, slowly chanting prayers about loving the alien.

_"__But if you pray all your sins are hooked upon the sky  
Pray and the heathen lie will disappear oh ho  
Prayers they hide the saddest view  
(Believing the strangest things, loving the alien)"_

She brushes his hand putting down a fork and he caresses the back of her neck trying to move behind her in the narrowed space. It's really no wonder that she can't hold herself a second longer as she spins around, reaching for his shoulders and planting the sweetest, briefest kiss on his lips. It's over before he can think "hallelujah".

" I don't think I said hello already." She fights her growing cowardice by not letting go of him or looking down at her boots. He raises one hand to her cheek, the other coming around her hip. He gazes down at her. " No, I don't think you did. Me neither."

He isn't as shy as her and allows his lips to fully lock with hers, playing with both her upper and lower lip before mutely requesting permission to access the softness of her tongue. She allows it and dinner is an unearthly notion. She joins her hands behind his neck and he pulls her to him, forcing her to rely on her toes. She feels him losing himself inside her mouth and it's the most glorious sensation that envelops the whole of her body, trembling with anticipation and faith in the unknown.

The moment doesn't last as her balance slowly disintegrate underneath his ministrations and she involuntary takes a step back, banging against the table. Awareness of space and time slaps them back into reality and they break contact, blushing and unwilling to look at the other. Bowie has stopped singing and the silence lingers a bit, punctuated by the accusing ticking of the clock on the wall.

It's Clara who finally speaks first : " Well, that's probably the nicest hello I've ever received". He cannot refrain himself and lets out a short but heartfelt laugh. He calms down, carefully rearranging a strand of her hair into a more dignified position. " I think I can return the compliment."

The ding of the oven startles them both. He strides towards the oven, opening the door before retrieving the steaming dish with a kitchen rag.

" Ready to be amazed by my cooking ?" She giggles : "Serve away and find out."

* * *

Dinner is _divine_. Not that she'll ever admit this to him with that particular phrasing but she does compliment the cook on his "admirable skills". He thanks her for the encouragement but he is no fool, he knows his own talent. One day, he'll make her confess the truth out of her.

( " _Lasagnes ? What lasagnes ?" "Don't play coy with me, Oswald. I saw the pure ecstasy on your face that day. Admit it."_ She smiles and rolls over him. " _Wanna see some more ?_" He knows that's as close to a confession as he'll ever get and pulls back the bed sheet over them. )

The wine is superb as well and she tells him so, although she insists on not having more than one glass. She wants to keep her head clear, a sentiment he gladly shares. They are now both sitting on the couch, close enough to touch each other but refraining to do so. Her cheek is resting against the back of her seat, legs beneath her and boots on the floor. His back is against the armrest, one foot on the floor, his other beneath his thigh. He is looking intently at her, knowing she wants to speak first.

" I'm not going to leave after this year. I want to stay and get my doctorate's degree. Not that my leaving would have any impact on how I wish to handle our relationship. I've never been one for short-term relationships and I don't think it would be fair on any of us if we were to start something one of us didn't believe in. I really want us to work out, whatever this is. So my question is : do you see a real future for this or is this just… I don't know… a flirt that has gotten out of hand ? Please be honest."

She forces herself to look at him while she speaks. She's not frightened of him but she does worry about his reaction. Their encounter last evening was passionate and she wants the confirmation she's not just a mere passing fancy.

There are hundreds of ways to answer her. He could reassure her, swear that he'd never would abandon her, argue and demonstrate that she's not going to get hurt but he doesn't. It's not the question she's asked and he doesn't want to make empty promises he can't possibly keep. She wants to know whether he would be willing to spend as many months, years, decades with her as humanly possible if they were to be a matching set. She didn't phrase it like that and yes, it could be a wild interpretation of her question but he doesn't think it's erroneous. He can feel the hurt of abandonment behind her interrogation and he wonders if it was a man. He can only sympathize.

"It's not. Passing fancies are nice but I wouldn't risk my career on them. Or someone else's heart. I would love nothing more than to get to know each other and see what is waiting for us down the road. If you agree, of course."

She smiles and she's shaking a bit. Her need to belong somewhere had been so strong this past few months, the relief of finally having a shot at something concrete is a bit overwhelming. He can't resist taking her in his arms.

"It's not going to be easy, Clara. Our respective situations do not allow us to really experience our relationship the way we'd want to. It might be straining at some point. I don't want you to force yourself into something you cannot tolerate. Lying can become an unbearable burden and I'd hate to see you hurt because of me."

She holds him tighter. Her voice is almost a whisper : " I know it's not going to be all rainbows and sunshine. I mean you're a bit grumpy and rude and I'm bossy and quite the mouthful. But I think we can make it a very good story. And the lying is only for a few months. After that, I don't care if they catch us in your office or against the blackboard. You'll be mine and I won't care who knows. Deal ?"

He smiles against her neck. " Against the blackboard, eh ? Have we been fantasizing in class instead of taking notes, Miss Oswald ?" She scrapes her nails into his T-shirt. " Not more than usual, Doctor. And probably no more than you. Although you do seem to be more keen about offices, if I remember well." He murmurs against her ear : "Deal".

* * *

They spend the rest of the evening talking about everything and nothing. He tells the tale of his wild youth and she describes some of her travels in Europe. Literature, music, despairing students and awful teachers make their way into the conversation. It's fluid and easy and they touch quite a bit although they seem to be holding themselves up, not willing to rush into things too quickly. Their time will come, she's certain of it.

He mentions his last serious relationship as a token of trust. She listens and tries to read between the lines but he keeps his cards close to his chest, hiding a weaker hand than it once was. His eyes burn with the recollection of scorched memories. " I suppose we've both been hurt." Her admission is rash and she regrets opening a box of wounds and aches she used to keep concealed. She doesn't want him to ask her any questions and she feels stupid for not be willing to return the favour he so gracefully gave her. So she gets up before he has a chance to think of a question and goes directly to the piano. She speaks again, changing the subject :

" Do you play, Doctor ?" Nina used to have a piano she barely touched, often cursing the damn thing for the waste of space. Clara shakes her head, chasing the bad memory away. She puts her hands on the piano and her fingers trace patterns on the closed lid of the instrument.

"Sometimes, when I feel the need to or I want to think about something else." How fitting, she almost says "What about you, my dear ?"

She laughs. His sudden mannerism amuses her. He is tiptoeing, not knowing how to behave around her, trying to be polite while thinking about undressing her. She is no fool, she has seen the look in his eyes at dinner. She remembers watching old movies with Laurence Olivier and Noel Coward plays. Who calls someone "my dear" when they're burning to take them to bed ? She knows he won't tonight but his need to maintain appearances is admirable. She wants to rip his shirt and find his beating heart, fingernails marking red and blood boiling.

He is still silently waiting for her answer and she tries to stop thinking about him, thinking about her. She sits on the bench, opens the lid and clumsily starts to play Für Elise that she had learned one rainy day at her grandmother's. " Does it answer your question ?" she asks after finishing. She bits her lower lip, refraining a smile. He wishes she would let him do it for her.

"I think it does. Did you never wish to cultivate your piano playing ?" She pauses a few seconds, pondering on whether she wants to elude the question or not. He looks at her, genuinely interested and decides he deserves an honest answer.

" You call that practicing and I call it a waste of time and energy" she says softly. " I will never have the talent to play piano or any other instrument and I never succeeded in taking any pleasure from it. I was always an "all or nothing" kind of girl. It can be disappointing as well as very rewarding. Anyway, I honestly prefer to enjoy a Mozart concerto rather than to have to endure it under my fingers. It's too beautiful to taint with my lack of talent."

From anyone else he would have called such a speech sarcastic and probably dishonest. But there is no bitterness in her voice, just a hint of melancholy and lost admiration. He gets up from the couch and takes a chair with him, positioning it so he can sit right behind her, his torso against her back. His chin is on her shoulder, his breath in her neck. " Put your hands on mine". She does as she is told, not questioning his actions.

Her mouth is dry. She can feel a hint of stubble against her delicate skin and his heart forcing its way from his ribcage to hers. She almost can't bear it.

He plays and their hands fly across the notes, making music and destroying barriers. The bareness of the walls are beginning to take colours and shifting shapes. She is with him, somewhere else, her feet not touching the ground as the melody speaks to her in a language she doesn't recognize. There are no words, no letters, just sounds that he finally allows her to comprehend, to make hers. She flies and it's all his doing. The music stops and she is completely resting against him. He takes his hands of the instrument to place them around her waist, encircling her. Her eyes are closed and tears are streaming down her cheeks. Everything has come back to the surface and she cannot hold back anymore. Memories of her underlying sadness trap her once again into an uncontrollable spiral. She wants to flee so he doesn't see the worst of it but he catches her, holding her still. His voice is soft and she wonders where he's been before she knew she needed him.

" Let yourself go, Clara. I'm not going anywhere."

They don't know how long they stay in this position. She doesn't feel the slumber overcoming her, just his arms and the feeling of having found solace after an interminable winter.


	7. Chapter 7

_Whohoo ! I've finally finished this chapter and oh lord, it feels good. This one had me struggling right until the end. I want to apologize for having made you wait so long for this update but the elements were set against me this time around. You'll see this one is not very talkative and far more introspective than the previous chapters. But never fear, there's still some fluff lying around ;) I hope to ne quicker to update for chapter eight but I prefer not to make any promise. College has begun again (work too), so it will be slower than in August._

_In this chapter, as I have hinted on previous ones, I assume that Clara and Nina were more than friends. To me, Clara is bisexual. That's one interpretation, you may not be on board with it, but I think it fits pretty well with what we've learned from Clara's echoes and Clara herself on the show. Constructive criticism is always welcome._

_I want to thank everyone who has left a comment, favorited and/or followed. You guys rock, as always. I hope this chapter will deliver on your expectations, even if not much is done or said. However, chapter eight is definitel going to get things done. So hang in there ;)_

_Love, Callie._

Chapter seven :

There was this intense dream she had once, a few years back, when Nina and her were still hanging on to something, anything that wasn't about to fall down around them. She was alone, in a white room without any door or window. The room was spacious enough so she didn't feel oppressed by the lack of exit. She started to walk, wanting to touch one of the walls but the room began to stretch on its own and she remained incapable of touching anything but the floor underneath her feet. Everything was tasteless. She couldn't smell or see anything, just the white oblivion and the certainty that she would never see the end of it, never get out of that room that really wasn't one.

As far as disturbing dreams went, this one probably took the cake. Clara hadn't seen much in its interpretation. But the blankness had followed her for quite some time and after a few days, she asked herself about that colour.

( She wanted to say blandness as well, but she couldn't, could she ? Because there was nothing dull or numb about all this white, just an overwhelming sense of the missing. She had shunned white in her clothing after that, afraid of the symbolism she couldn't bear to hang on close to her skin.)

Everything had been so bright but so empty. Soulless. And where was Nina ? Wasn't she the one who told her she'd always be here for her ?

After some time, she resigned herself to the thought that she couldn't control her dreams. She never told Nina about it and moved on. The dream went away, safely tucked in an obscure corner of her memory and she promptly ordered herself to forget all about it.

That night, at the Doctor's house, the dream comes back. She is back into the room and for the first time, she notices what she is wearing. A midnight blue dress that goes just past her knees, strapless and ample. No shoes or jewellery, just the dress. She starts to walk, as if she is expected to get going, and soon, she sees a door. A blue, wooden door to match her outfit. The steps become hurried and not long after that, she is running. To her surprise, the door doesn't move like the walls as she easily comes into contact with it. She pushes it, almost expecting to just step into another white room.

The warm air hits her at the same moment as the sunshine on her face. She isn't blinded by the sudden light, just surprised and oh, so relieved. Then the wet, delightful grass between her toes gives a sense of the earth, spinning beneath her. A smell of summer hangs in the air. She hears a voice coming from behind her. She turns and sees herself smile.

Her vision blurs and she wakes up.

* * *

It doesn't come easily, the acceptance of consciousness. Slowly, as if arousing from a millennial slumber, the sensation of her limbs reminds her of the existence of her own body, the weight of her bones becoming more acute. It is the strangest state of mind, this fragile balance between awareness and sleepiness. She finds it comforting and instantly wishes for it to last forever.

Of course, it doesn't. It never does.

It's the scent of the sheets, so foreign and yet unmistakably familiar. It's deep and musky, masculine and intoxicating. She is tangled in them, almost indistinguishable from arms around her waist, not ready to let go. Like him, last night, promising her he wouldn't leave. The thought of the previous evening achieves to wake her up and she checks the other side of the bed for another presence : no one.

She exhales in relief, not ready to have an embarrassing conversation so early in the morning. Well, as early as eleven o'clock is when you've spent most of the night talking and silently crying in someone else's arms. She needs a decent cup of coffee. Now.

She gets up slowly, afraid to make noise, even though she is alone in the bedroom. She shakes her head at her own silliness. Silence isn't going to solve any of her problems, although, she's not sure why she thinks there is a problem. She feels confused and the need for breakfast becomes more urgent. A shower would be nice as well. Actually, it's probably best to start by the shower first.

She locates the en-suite bathroom immediately and blesses heaven and hell for the warm water achieving to wake her up. She puts her clothes back on quickly, anxious not to overstay her welcome.

Her shoes not being anywhere in the bedroom, she decides to go hunting for them as well as something caffeinated.

She enters the living room, mildly surprised to find herself alone in the flat. _'He is probably lecturing this morning as well' _she tells herself.

She finds her shoes carelessly lying on the floor near the couch where she let them last night but is completely baffled when she cannot find any coffee machine or pot of coffee of any sort.

"Don't tell me you're the no-coffee type, Doctor. That's not going to work for me."

"Well, I just thought you might prefer fresh coffee form down the street."

She curses as she jumps around, wishing for her heart not to make a hole in her ribcage and for him to stop doing that. " For heaven's sake, Doctor ! Don't kill me before coffee !" She sees him in the doorway at the top of the stairs, holding two fuming cups in his hands. He approaches and extends one to her, a half-smile still on his face. "Good morning, Ms. Oswald. I hope you will find your two-sugar latte to your satisfaction." She slightly raise an eyebrow, taking a small sip of the hot beverage. "You remembered. Hm.. I suppose this will do. But no more creeping up on me."

" Yes, Ma'am." And he lowers his lips to hers. It's brief and sweet and just what she needed to relax completely. When has it become so simple ?

She smiles as they take a seat around the kitchen table. They talk easily for a few minutes as he mentions his Thursday class.

( He also teaches science-fiction and dystopia in literature to undergrads : " they're all terrified of me" he grins and she laughs " well, that's because you make them think you eat first years for breakfast" He leans towards her, mischievous : " Who says that's not true ?" she steals a quick kiss " Oh, I wouldn't dare contradict you." )

" So, what is your plan for the day ? Do you have class this afternoon ?" He tries to sound casual and almost succeeds in doing so, but Clara is in the same predicament : she doesn't want to go just yet. Unfortunately, she has to. " I've got two lectures. I have to go home, get a change of clothes and my books. I probably should avoid my roommates if I want to get to class on time." He raises an eyebrow. " Nosy, are they ?" "Something like that. But they're nice girls. I'll just have to be more careful in the future. And about last night..."

He gets up and clears the table. "You don't have to tell me anything. Not if you don't feel like it." A surge of gratefulness overwhelms her and she wishes she could kiss him and never let go. But time is playing against her and she knows this is not the sort of conversation one has in the morning before rushing out. She still takes his hand, a silent promise to tell him all, one day, when she is ready to confront her own demons. She grabs her jacket and stops at the door leading to the staircase. " Will I see you before class ?" He cups her face and kisses her slowly, a hint of mint and bergamot orange on his tongue. She holds on his jumper before he takes a step back and she releases the wool from her fingers. Her breath is uneven. " I would be very glad to." He holds the door for her. She doesn't say anything as she leaves his house. They both know she'll be back soon enough.

* * *

Rory eyes Amy suspiciously. She's been fidgeting since early this morning, furtively looking at the door and at the clock on the living-room wall. Rory knows it's not him that's boring. He also knows that asking her about it is as good as the idea to invade Russia during winter. So he waits patiently, knowing she can't keep something from him too long before exploding. Not that Amy can't keep secrets from him. Just not secrets that put her in a state of restlessness. The front door finally opens and Clara comes from behind it before directly going to her room. The lack of greeting suggests she didn't see them on the couch. Amy finally turns to him :

" Almost one o'clock in the afternoon. Do you know what it means ?" Amy sounds excited and for the sake of them both ( and probably Clara's ), he tries not to.

"That it's probably lunchtime ?" Amy doesn't take note of the underlying sarcasm, taking his book from his hands. " That she definitely has someone. As I suspected."

Rory decides to intervene before she gets any idea of nosing around Clara's door. " I don't think that's any of your business, Amy. She's a grown-up woman with a right to privacy. If she wants to share something with you, let her come to you first." Amy huffs but doesn't protest. She hasn't known Clara long enough to expect any sort of confidence from her. Especially since they both know that Clara's last relationship didn't end well. Rory feels sorry for the young woman. She is truly a nice person, funny and intelligent to boot. Amy is his soulmate but he can easily recognise a kindred spirit in Clara. The least he can do for her is to keep his eager girlfriend from scaring her with indiscreet questions. " Leave her be. If she wants to talk, she'll come to one of you."

Clara comes out of her room soon after that, changed and some light make-up on. She greets them quickly, excusing herself for not being able to chat more, she's got to run to class. Rory smiles and Amy asks her if she wants to share Indian take-away with the two of them this evening. Clara smiles and agrees, telling them to just get her some nans and curry, before disappearing once more from the flat.

Amy claps her hands. Rory sighs.

* * *

It's colder than she thought it would be when she steps out. October is bleeding into November and the streets are becoming redder as the leaves fall from the great oaks all around the city. The summer lasted far longer than usual this year. She wonders if this means they won't get any snow this winter.

She wraps her jacket tighter against her chest, wishing she'd put on a jumper or a scarf before leaving. She's always been surprised by the cold, as if she weren't expecting an end to her summers. Heat and sun are always mistaking her into a false sense of everlasting comfort, dizzying her mind and body, making her forget that solace can also be found in other people's warmth. She may thrive all by herself under the sun but ultimately, the only progress she accomplishes seems to be undone by the first bite of winter and the dawning of her true loneliness.

Nina's body never succeeded to keep her warm. The few times they'd actually shared a bed, an embrace, a kiss, Clara had felt the distance between them growing more than closing. The reminiscence of that party, where one of the boys had compared her to an ice sculpture, comes back to her, ringing out of tune for the first time in years. She stops a few seconds in front of a shop window, gazing at her reflection and Clara wonders if she has ever been cold at all. Last night, being held by him had filled that abysmal gap that was once the sum of the echoes of her voice, rippling through the silence and towards the surface, dying away and never heard.

He had heard her. Fear and hope were battling between her lungs and her heart, confusing her more than enlightening her. But most of all, she didn't know what to dread or dream for. She tried to remember her books, all filled with love and noble endeavours but she couldn't find one of them that explained what was one supposed to expect from the other. She blamed medieval literature for just stopping at the fulfilment of longing and never going further. She also blamed the modernists for deconstructing love without allowing a primary understanding of the matter first. But foremost, she blamed herself for having been such a fool for so long and never realising her utter cluelessness about it all.

Once, she had heard Nina telling some of her friends that love was a game that only involved several players. There were no rules and probably no prize. Just the satisfaction of playing better than the other. And if Clara knew something, it was that the Doctor was a far more experienced player than her. Could she trust him when she didn't even know his name ?

She sits on one of the back benches, waiting for class to begin as she weights her options. Something has to be done.


	8. Chapter 8

_Hello everyone, this is the smallest chapter I've written so far but that's because I needed to arrange things before the next chapter which should be more interesting. Still, there are some good talking there, so enjoy ! ( sorry for the little cliffhanger at the end :D ) Thanks to everyone who's reviewed and favorited/followed. You're amazing ! Love, Callie._

Chapter 8 :

He reflects upon the last days without really knowing where to start. Clara Oswald is a mystery wrapped into an enigma. Yes, they spoke last night, quite extensively at that, but as the evening went by, he couldn't shake the feeling that she was holding out on the most important. Whatever the most important may be.

Her tears had surprised him. Not because he hadn't seen the underlying sadness behind her carefully sculpted smile, but because he hadn't expected her to give in so easily. She was more fragile than they both thought. This realisation made think back on where they were both heading.

She was fragile - if strong-headed - and he was… not the most careful man he knew. River had told him once : " You would be the most amazing man if only you knew how to handle emotions. You have a love for literature and complicated, flawed human feelings. But you seem to look upon them as if you were detached from them, admiring them from a distance. I love you, Doctor. And I hope one day, you'll be able to say the same. And if not to me, then to someone else."

He sighed. River's words rang into his mind as clearly as the day she had spoken them. It had been one of their last conversation as a couple ( the last time they had been one). She hadn't said them out of anger or to be cruel. Just a truth that needed to be heard.

His phone rings and it's Donna again. He's been avoiding her phone calls for a few days now and he knew the more he waited, the less forgiving she would be. He answers, mentally readying himself for the auditory slap :

" Well, well, if this is not the great professor, gracefully taking time off his incredibly busy schedule to answer his phone."

"I'm sorry Donna. I should have answered earlier but I kept being… interrupted. What is it ?"

" Oh, I'm sure you were. Care to come by and have tea ? Maybe you'll tell me about these _interruptions_."

"I'm coming."

The walk from his house to hers takes less than ten minutes and he stops by Tesco to buy some scones. He doesn't even have to ring the bell as Donna opens the door directly. He swears she's worse than a mother hen sometimes. He kisses her cheek and gives her the scones. "Don't think this is going to be so easy, Spaceman." He hangs his coat in the hall. " Oh no, that's just to soften the blow, sister dear."

They go into the kitchen when the water is boiled. She silently pours two mugs before sitting in front of him. " Well, why haven't you answered my calls or my texts ?" He sips carefully his tea. " Donna, please don't do this. I'm not a child for god's sake. I don't need to report every day to you. Can't we just talk normally ? How was your week ? How's the lawyer ?"

She doesn't show it but she does feel a bit stupid for having been so worried. She should have known better but she can't stop herself, she's been concerned about him since the other professor left him.

" Look, I don't want to talk about my week." " How novel" " Don't interrupt me, John. I just want to know if you're okay. We've barely seen each other this summer, me in Spain and you going to lectures all over the country. I come back and you've split up with River - again - and now she's married to a man child. What I am supposed to think ? That everything is alright ? Talk to me, please."

The Doctor averts her gaze, dipping his scone into the mug. " I'm sorry if I worried you. I'm not proud of avoiding you. I just wanted to go back to normal, to university and the students without the constant reminder that my former partner had ended our seven years relationship. And I'm fine, really. I wasn't for some time but now, it starts to feel like moving on is still a possibility."

Donna takes his hand, enlacing her fingers with his. " I'm glad you're feeling better. Now, tell me about that girl." She smiles, trying to show him that she won't be judgemental.

" She is… pretty. Intelligent, far more than she thinks she is. Funny, bossy, talks a lot. Sad, too. She doesn't say why. Not sure she fully acknowledges it yet." Donna chuckles. " Reminds me of someone, don't you think ?" " I'm not sad." " No, but you are prone to melancholia. You stay with your books, not talking to anyone but your students or me- when you actually grace me with your presence. It's like you're stagnating. When was the last time you took a vacation ? And I don't mean you, staying in your house waiting for class to begin again.

He averts his gaze, not willing to answer. " Exactly. " she says.

He finally succeeds to change the subject, or at least, Donna lets him. They spend the rest of the day together until he goes back to his place, grading papers and thinking about Clara.

He goes to sleep with the scent of her in his bed sheets.

xxxxxxxx

The weekend arrives with the rain, cold and unforgiving. The streets are almost impracticable, even with a very good umbrella. Clara sighs. Her phone has been silent all week and she really thought he'd call to see her this Saturday. She hesitates to call him. She feels silly to be so afraid to make the first move but old habits die hard and well, it's not like they've been seeing each other a long time. It makes her dread Monday and his morning class even more than usual.

In the living room, Rose and Amy are both working and Martha is silently reading on the couch, enjoying the tap of the rain on the window. Clara looks at them and thinks the flat hasn't been this calm since they all moved back. It makes her heart swell slightly to acknowledge that she hasn't been the best of flatmates these past few days. She's hardly seen them since the beginning of the month and November is almost there, threatening to thunder its way through the year. Having done most her reading for the following week at the library, she endeavours to make amends, starting with hot cocoa and marshmallows from her private stash. Rose is the most grateful : " Oh Clara, you're a darling. I swear my brain is starting to liquefy." Martha thanks her and Amy drinks it all in one go, not bothering with the hotness or the marshmallows. Her smile tells it all. Clara takes her courage with both hands. " I just wanted to say I'm sorry that I haven't been very present lately. It's been a bit hectic but I hope it's going to get better soon." Amy takes her hand from the other side of the table. " Don't worry, lassie. I dare say we've all been there." Clara doesn't try to faint ignorance. She's probably been more obvious than she gave herself credit for. Her mouth curls a bit as she toys with her mug. Rose stops writing and Martha joins them at the table, her book forgotten on the couch. Amy asks first : " So, what's her name ?"

Clara is taken aback. Of course the girls would have told her about Nina, but it's strange to be confronted to people's expectations. Especially when she's never considered herself more attracted by one gender rather than the other. For Clara, it's always been people. She takes a deep breath. "Actually, it's a "he". And I'm not sure. He has a nickname and I never bothered to ask him his real name." The girls look at each other. "Well, that's not in the least strange." Martha quips. They all laugh, happy and confused at the same time. " Well, what is he like then ?" What a sensible question, Clara thinks. The truth is, she's not sure. She tries anyway. " He is intelligent. Funny. He looks at me as if he knew everything about me and yet, doesn't want to run away. Respectful. Unpredictable, too."

They fall into silence for a minute or so. A new threshold has been crossed and they savour the moment together. Martha is the one who breaks the silence. " Well, he doesn't seem half bad. Maybe you can introduce us, one day." Amy adds immediately " But after you've learned his name, though. Might be a little awkward, otherwise." Rose and Amy laugh and Martha smiles, blushing at her little blunder. Clara feels a knot tightening around her stomach. She knew she couldn't hide that she had someone anymore, but now she has to be even more careful. " Yes, well, let's see where it goes first. Shall I order pizza ?"

They all agree, the fridge being almost empty and the rain is still pouring outside. While Rose orders for them all, Clara locks herself in the bathroom and dials his number. He answers almost immediately.

"Hello, there. I thought you'd never call." Her heart lifts instantly. " Well, that's very strange, because I thought _you_'d never call." She hears him laugh at the other end of the line. " Lord, it's been far too many years since I've done that. I'm sorry, Clara. I didn't want to impose on your schedule." She has a little smile, being both relieved and amused. " Well, I suppose you're forgiven. But it never hurts to ask, you know ?" " I know. When may I see you ? The heavens seems to be against us today." "They say that tomorrow's weather will be merciful. Is that okay ?" "It's perfect, come by my house around eleven. We'll drive outside town." Clara shivers a bit. The idea of being alone with him sends delightful shivers to her spine. " Can't wait. See you tomorrow." " Bye, Clara." They both hang up and she comes out of the bathroom, a smile on her lips.

xxxxxxx

Clara was right. The rain stopped a few minutes after midnight and the morning is cloudless. She leaves the flat at half past ten, wearing a jumper, some jeans and sensible shoes with a warm coat. She rings his door bell a few minutes before eleven. He greets her at the door with a kiss. " No time to waste, let's get out of this wretched town." He takes her hand, leading her to a black Lancia before opening the door for her. He gets in just after, but is interrupted before he starts the engine as she cups his face and kisses him good morning properly. He goes with the flow, opening his mouth to hers and enlacing her waist at the same time. He doesn't know how he let several days pass without having her in his arms. He decides not to let this happen again, not if he can help it. The kiss comes to an end but they don't let go of each other, their foreheads still touching. " What did I tell you about saying hello properly ?" He chuckles. " You didn't say anything. Last time, you just grabbed me. I was completely helpless." She pinches him. " Why are you the innocent victim ? Aren't you supposed to be the dangerous professor that prays on his students ?" He bites her lower lip. " Hmm.. what an interesting idea, Ms. Oswald. Maybe you could tell me more about it later." She blushes violently and he lets go of her, pushing the contact key. He whistles " I don't need no education" until they get out of town. Clara blatantly ignores him, looking out of the window.

They both know that she's smiling.


	9. Chapter 9

_Whohoo ! I did this one in less than ten days ! Here's the far mooore interesting chapter that everyone was waiting for. Might be a bit mature but nothing graphic. I might be temtped to go more into detail next time but you have to tell me if you want it (or not)._

_Thank you for your support. Your reviews are the highlight of my days ! Love, Callie._

Chapter 9 :

It's a relatively short ride to get to the restaurant. The sky has well-cleared out from the storm and it's not too cold for a walk either. They keep looking at each other in the car and the Doctor's free hand makes his way to hers a few times. It's simple and sweet and Clara cannot help herself from wishing he'd stop and to truly touch her. She knows there's no rush but all the same, she's only human.

They arrive at a nice cottage near the sea, called the Rose and the Crown. The wind blows strongly and he takes her hand once again to lead her inside.

"Have you come here before, then ?" She's not worried someone might recognize them. It's well out of the main road and she trusts him to be careful enough for the both of them.

" Yes, I've lunched there a few times. The food is good and the panorama is great. We'll have a walk after lunch, if you're amenable, of course." He's back to his shy self, tip-toeing around her, suddenly not so sure about himself. She squeezes his hand, fighting the urge to kiss him into reassurance. " Oh I'm sure I'll be amenable." She teases him a bit, too. She can't fight the desire of seeing him blush, an agreeable chill coursing through her bones. _I can make this man blush_, she tells herself. It feels almost too good to be true.

They are shown to a table at the back, near one of the windows looking out to the seaside. She browses through the menu, trying not to look at him too often. He does the same and it's unnerving, she wants to laugh and grab him from his side of the table and kiss his smile until it becomes a laugh, then a moan. She restrains herself, barely.

" And how have you been since the last time I saw you ?" He asks the question very naturally, and Clara knows that he doesn't mean her health. He might not have insisted on knowing the details about her breakdown but it doesn't stop him from worrying. To be fair, she worries herself. " Very well, thank you very much. And you ? Not too busy with work ?" He puts his menu down and she does the same. They stare at each other for a few seconds and she finally understands why he brought her so far away from town. He wants to talk seriously and the fear of interruption and recognition is too great anywhere near the university. And going back to his place so soon after the incident would have been awkward, to say the least. Neutral territory, then.

" You should ask me the questions you mean to ask if you want this to go anywhere." She speaks carefully, her voice sweet enough to indicate her willingness to talk more. He sighs, his hand reaching the back of his neck. " I know, I'm sorry. I was trying to be.. tactful." She chuckles a bit at that. " I'm sorry to say, but tact doesn't seem to be your greatest strength. Frankness and honesty, they're more up your alley." She takes his hand on the table. "I don't mind, Doctor. Go ahead."

"John." She raises an eyebrow. " John is my name. You may as well know it."

"Well, it's very nice to meet you, John. I'm Clara." She winks and he laughs. " I can't believe we haven't done the done the most basic thing in a relationship. I feel like I'm failing miserably."

" You're not failing. You're simply overwhelmed by my intelligence and my beauty. Happens to every man."

" Oh, really ? I wonder why you even bother to date us, then. We must be such a disappointment compared to your great achievements." He's only teasing but she can't help herself from dropping the first bombshell on him. He'll learn about it one way or another.

" Well, my last boyfriend was a girlfriend, so really, the disappointment is not such a hindrance. It gives me some variety." At that statement, he sits back, an odd look on his face. She continues before he has the time to formulate his thought. " That didn't end well. She wasn't the best at caring for people other than herself. And frankly, that was the least of her faults." She gladly takes a sip from the glass of wine the waitress just brought, waiting for a reaction from the man in front of her.

" I'm sorry. It must have been difficult for you." She looks away, focusing on the landscape outside the restaurant. She clears her throat. " I didn't love her. But she was my best friend too, and it's never easy to let go of both a lover and a friend. I've never really talked about her to anyone. Not even when we were together. She didn't want people to know about us and after she left, I was a bit lost. It was like I had lost something nobody ever knew existed. Not even myself."

There's a silence after that. It's not uneasy but necessary. The Doctor takes the time of analysing the information he just gathered and Clara needs the time to get over talking about Nina. It feels good, in a way, to let go of the burden that was her former lover. But it hurts, too. She feels a part of herself, slowly ripping itself away, a dead skin that she should have shed a long time ago. She feels warmth on her cheek and it's a tear, salty and bitter, leaving a trail down her face. His thumb catches it. She looks back at him and she's grateful for his silent understanding. She's not completely blind herself. There's something about him that draw her near and she knows it's a shared pain. He laughs too much or not enough, she can't quite tell. He's been hurt as well. She's glad she found him.

The waitress comes back a minute later with their dishes and the conversation takes a lighter tone, him making jokes about undergrads and her, telling him about her favourite reads. It's easy and simple, he talks and she watches his lips do the most wonderful things. She wants to live by them. Listen to him, make him smile, make him cry her name. Her laugh echoes around them and she sends shivers through his body. She observes the effect she has on him, feeling instantly jealous of his clothes and his skin, hiding the pulse of his heart and the tightening of his lungs. There is an art form to be created from his smiles and music from his voice. It's magnetic. She feels the trance he puts her in. She never wants him to stop talking and he wishes she'd never stop laughing.

Dessert is a short but difficult affair for John. Clara's foot is teasing him under the table while she feeds him her raspberry parfait. He feels like a malleable paste between her small, loving hands. His fingers trace patterns over the back of her hand and he rapturously watches her bit her lip. He admires her neck as well. It's such a small thing, he thinks. He already knows all about its softness and the way it fits perfectly between his hands. He has felt it tighten voluntarily as he kisses her, the short intake of breath she needs to give back as good as she's got. He wants to bite the juncture of her neck and her shoulder and thinks he might just do that, as soon as they get out of the restaurant. He pays for the lunch while she goes to the restroom. Five minutes later, they are walking away from the Rose and the Crown.

xxxxx

There is a small path that leads to the beach. He takes her hand as she smiles at him and they intertwine their fingers together. She feels giddy by being so close to him and the wind blowing through her hair does nothing to clear her head. She feels his magnetic pull and he wonders how he ever knew anything about gravity before he met her. His mind unknowingly wanders to River for a second and he thinks that nothing was ever natural between them. But not with Clara. There is an understanding between them that feels stronger and more concrete, something transcendental that doesn't need explaining. It just is and there's nothing to be done about it.

They reach the beach and he cups her face, leaning towards her, his lips hovering overs hers. He looks at her, asking for her blessing, begging her to need him as much as he needs her. She lifts herself and her mouth reaches his lower lip, toying with it. He can't hold back any longer, his tongue finding his way to hers. The sound of the sea is silenced and she only hears the thunder of her own heart echoing his. She dreams of typhoons and hurricanes raining down on them. She sees the end of the earth, the planet splitting in two and the two of them, unmoved and unconcerned, clinging to each other and never letting go.

She allows her hand to go under his vest and his jumper, reaching for the first bit of skin she can touch. He moans through her lips, clearly appreciative of the skin contact. She knows they can't give in to each other here and it frustrates her to no end, but this is not the place and at some point, she finally takes a step back, never letting go of him, but still needing to breathe properly.

" I don't think the locals need a spectacle of our.. eagerness." He chuckles, kissing her chastely. " Is that how you call it these days ?" She laughs a bit, slipping her hand into his back pocket, grabbing him. "That how I call it when people can see us."

" We could go back to my flat and finish this properly." She pinches him through his jeans and his thrusts his hips involuntarily. " Are propositioning me, Doctor ? Careful, now. A girl might get the wrong idea." He lowers his mouth to her ear, his breath sending chills to her spine. " Oh, I wouldn't want that, Ms. Oswald. I actually intent you to get all the right ideas." He sucks her earlobe and she moans. How are they ever going to keep their hands to themselves all the way back to his place ? She takes her hand out of his back pocket and grabs his shirt. " Take me home, then."

xxxxx

The journey back is excruciating and the Doctor silently scolds himself to have driven them so far from town. Clara looks through the window, her legs crossed, trying to be the picture of innocence when she is really the personification of wantonness. The Doctor tries not to acknowledge the tightening of his jeans or the way Clara keeps her legs tightly together. He keeps his free hand for himself as well, by fear of not reaching the house if he touches her one more time.

They miraculously arrive back to his place and he takes her hand once more, locking the car, opening the door, leading her up the stairs, through the house and to the bedroom where he finally looks at her and god, he's never seen something so mesmerizing in his whole life. They stare at each other, unsure of where to begin. Clara finally takes the initiative by reaching for his vest and discarding it on the floor. Same for his jumper. Her coat and her shoes disappear as well. She tries to reach for his belt but he kisses her first, walking her to the bed and laying her on it. She gets out of her own jumper and the Doctor's lips trace the line of her bra, his tongue leaving a hot trail on her body, her hand roaming through his hair. He helps her get out of her jeans and looks at her, half-naked beneath him, her hot little hands already reaching for his belt. This time, he lets her do as she pleases and soon, they are both in their underwear, settling more comfortably at the centre of the bed.

" God, Clara, you're breath-taking. Never leave me, never leave this bedroom." She kisses him sweetly, an odd contrast to their earlier impatience. " I'm not planning on going anywhere. I'm right where I want to be." He kisses her into passion once again while he feels her hand slipping though his last remaining piece of clothing. Neither of them formulate a coherent thought after that.

xxxx

They emerge from a very satisfactory nap a few minutes before seven. The Doctor opens his eyes first, finding a brunette head on his chest and arms wrapped around him. He kisses the top of her head, a lazy smile on his lips. She stirs into her sleep which soon becomes consciousness and awareness. She looks up at him, her smile finding its way to her delightful lips. He kisses them because he cannot not kiss her.

" Well, hello there, sleepyhead."

" Hey" Her voice is a bit raspy and she remembers why, distinctly hearing her voice trying to shake the walls with his name two hours earlier. She feels sore in all the right places and she tighten her embrace of him. " I haven't slept that well in a long time" she says, her voice recovering its natural tone. "

" So glad, you find me so comfortable." She laughs and it ripples through his chest. " Hmm.. I have to say, Doctor, I didn't know you had so many hidden talents." They both know she's not referring to her comfortable sleep and his hand caresses its way along her bare back. " I'm a man of many talents, Ms. Oswald. I'm glad you finally acknowledge them." He rolls her beneath him. " Do you want to get dinner ? Or maybe, we could stay a bit longer in bed…" his fingers are tracing patterns over her belly. She fights control over her breathing.

" As tempting as the last proposal sounds, and trust me, I know what I'm speaking about, I'm starving. Someone drained me of all my energy and I need some of it back."

" How rude of them. I'll see what I can dig up from the kitchen."

He kisses her lips then both her breasts – "bastard"- before getting out of the bed and the bedroom, a knowing smile on his lips as she admires him leaving.

She muffles a laugh in his pillow.


	10. Chapter 10

_Hi everyone ! Here's a "slow chapter" full of sweetness before further complications... in the following chapters. Meanwhile, I'd like to thank all of those who have left reviews and favorited/followed. It warms my writer's heart to see such enthusiasm for this story. For all of those who are asking about Closed Doors and Open Curtains, I haven't abandoned it. I'll try to get on it as soon as possible but school gets in the way and my writing is mainly concentrated on this one at the moment. So I'm very sorry for the delay, I'll do my best to update ASAP._

_All my love, Callie._

They make love once more before she leaves and they kiss fervently against his front door after he's prevented her from going before being able to say a proper goodbye. It's addictive, she thinks, the way he touches her, the frenzy at the tip of his fingers, electric and disabling. The need she craves with the want she barely controls, she has to get out of his flat before she spends the night on his landing, among his worn books and old records.

There is a smile on his lips and the promise for more when he says " Goodbye, Ms. Oswald". She answers in kind, tongue in cheek and heart racing " Goodbye, Doctor". It takes all she's got not to put her hands back around his neck. Instead, she reaches for the door handle and lets herself out, winking at him before disappearing at the corner of the darkened street. She lets an ecstatic laugh escape her a minute later, her head full of memories she carefully arranges, making sure they don't get lost somewhere she can't find them again. Happiness and other more powerful emotions bubble inside her, unable to name them all. She feeds on them, getting drunk and addicted, wishing for life to be always that easy and straightforward, her in his arms, him kissing her, them crying each other's name.

She still blushes at some reminiscences of the day when she puts her key in the lock of her front door, not even bothering to put on a straight face. It's late and she is still in a daze, too delighted to be careful and goes directly to her room to change into her nightie. She thinks of sleeping and dreaming again but the events of the day prevent her from finding sleep and she momentarily abandons the notion as she exits her room to go make some tea for herself. She almost jumps when she hears a rattling of a throat from behind her.

It's John, Rose's boyfriend, awkwardly smiling at her in his pin-striped jimjams._ Dear Lord, does this man has everything in pinstripes ?_

" Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. You seemed… elsewhere." He is holding a half-finished banana in one hand and what she thinks is an over-complicated screwdriver in the other. " Yeah, sorry. Long day." He frowns his eyebrows. " On a Sunday ?" Clara bits her lower lip, cursing herself and wishing John was not so awake at almost midnight. " Er.. yeah. Go figure. Everything alright ? Need some help rebuilding the toaster ? Again ?"

Nice move, Oswald. Change the subject of conversation.

Her tactic works and John hides the banana then his tool behind his back. Clara laughs and she pours two cups of tea instead of one as she notices the mixer laying on the carpet, in several parts. " Do you want some help with that ?" He gratefully takes the mug from her after engulfing the last part of his banana, adding five sugars in it.

" Well, I think I've successfully augmented the speed of the mixer, so I really just have to put it all back together." Clara doesn't protest at his meddling with one of the kitchen appliances. Since he last upgraded the toaster, it takes far less longer than it usually did to toast the bread. Also, it doesn't jump at her face anymore, for which John has earned her undying gratitude as she had burned herself quite a few time because of it.

They settle on the carpet, John hard at work on the mixer and Clara unwilling to go back to her room just yet. He rambles on and on about the inefficiency of mixers' makers and the highway robbery performed on the pricing of said items. She smiles as she listens silently. There's always been something extremely soothing in Rose's boyfriend manner of speaking. He talks as if he really cares - and she dares say he does – drowning the sound of thoughts to let people around him only focus on his voice. It's a rare gift, she thinks.

The Doctor is exactly the same in that respect, even if he wouldn't dare manipulate electric devices the way John seems to relish in doing. She remembers Rose talking about his rambling " It's not as much other's people attention as his own. He talks to think about something else. He's been hurt, you know. He rarely speaks about it but I know he used to think of little else before we met. He is better now. But the moods still come and go". After that discussion, Clara had recognized a shared suffering she had failed to acknowledge because of her own. Almost like a tacit understanding, they'd agreed never to mention the other's pain, already obvious to one another.

But the other's happiness was another matter entirely. Lost in thought, she didn't notice he'd stop talking. She met his eyes as well as his amused smile before asking " What ?"

" You know, if there's something else you'd rather speak about, I'm happy to listen. Like why today was particularly exhausting for you." She congratulates herself as she restrains herself from blushing and says as innocently as possible : " I don't know what you mean." He laughs and slowly shakes his head, finally understanding Jack's point of view when he was the one in denial over Rose. Humanity has a way of repeating itself even in the most mundane of ways. Not that there's anything mundane about love. But lying about it, now that's another thing entirely.

" I'm just saying. You shouldn't keep everything to yourself. It's not healthy. Trust me, I know." Clara knows he knows. She remembers Rose and John dancing around each other, denying the simplest of things and almost hurting one another because of an innocent French student who had taken a shine to one very oblivious John. But she knows she can't compare her relationship with the Doctor to the one Rose and John have. They are attached to the hip, loud and exuberant where the Doctor and her are quiet and private and both aware of their respective solitary nature. The secrecy of their relationship won't last forever and yet, she cannot imagine them being the sort of couple she sees in Rose and John's. It's something to be cherished and shared with a few close friends but as far as the rest of the world is concerned, their relationship is their own business and no one else's.

She's already tried what Rose and John have with Nina. Granted, it wasn't very successful and frankly, Nina was a bad girlfriend as far as she's concerned, but it had permitted her to understand that she needed to be fine on her own before being fine with someone. Clara is getting there, slowly. She's met someone earlier than she hoped she would but she goes along with it because she has no reason to deny herself her share of happiness. She knows that now when she didn't before. She thinks it's already a very good step in the right direction.

Rose appears in the doorway, half asleep and quietly telling John to go back to bed. Clara looks at the clock on the microwave and it's a few minutes to 1am. She squeezes his hand and taps on Rose's shoulder as she returns to her room. Sleep finds her soon after.

xxxx

Monday comes back with a vengeance. Amy would gladly add " as any other Monday" but this one, Clara thinks, is particularly vicious. First, she wakes up late, having no time for breakfast but the banana John shoves in her hand. " It's full of potassium !" he says as Rose chuckles on the couch. Then, Clara runs all the way to university to finally meet a close door as she arrives in front of the lecture hall. Damn, she thinks, it's already begun. Her phone buzzes in her pocket and it's the Doctor, asking her if she's ill.

She knocks on the door, seizing her courage with both hands and bracing herself for the smug smile he won't fail to have on his lips. He opens the door, inspecting her state of near disarray and she can't help thinking that he'd already seen her in a far less dignified state. Still, it doesn't stop him from sounding smug as well as looking it " Ah, Ms. Oswald, so glad you could join us. Short night, was it ?" He rolls his tongue on the "short" and the wish to slap him and kiss him hard leaves a bittersweet taste on her tongue. She plays it down, knowing she'll make him pay for it later. " Sorry, there were some night disturbances, won't happen again." She brushes pass him as she hears him stop breathing for a second or two and she sits at the back, carefully avoiding the stare that doesn't leave her until she's all settled for class.

Two hours later, she hears his voice asking her to stay behind a few more minutes. " Good luck" she hears on her left and it's that nice brunette who always seems to shake from head to toe every time the Doctor looks in her direction. _Poor girl, you don't know the half of it._

She waits for everyone to leave before going down the stairs of the hall to meet him. He pretends to read some paper, his glasses on top of his nose and one of his hand carefully tucked in his jean's pocket. The door is still wide open and she instantly wants to change that but it's not the place nor the time and she knows there's another lecture in twenty minutes in this hall.

"Everything alright ? You seemed… distracted." She smiles, recognizing the tone of concern in his voice.

" Yeah, don't worry. Just, you know, a bit tired. Yesterday has been quite busy. And I couldn't find sleep either."

They keep a safety distance between them but really, an outsider would feel the tension between them a mile off. Except it's not tension as much as it is awkwardness. They've crossed a new line in their relationship but the feeling is still new and the sole desire of being alone in his bedroom doesn't solve everything. They still need to make each other's further acquaintance and she just wants to be back at his house, lying down in his arms on the couch, talking to each other. University is still dangerous territory and his glasses with his casual look do not help at all.

" Well, I couldn't either. Maybe, we could have a nap. Nothing further, just… hm… sleeping ?" The idea sounds divine and she accepts, but not before she can stop at a coffee shop to get something to eat with some hot cocoa. He complies and waits for her outside while she takes her breakfast to go. She shares her croissant with him on the way back to his place while she weights the pros and cons to take his hand in hers. He finally makes a decision for her by stretching an arm around her waist and it's heavenly because she's a bit cold from the morning frost and really, she just wants to be close to him.

( "You could at least dress warmly. I can't have you sneezing during my lectures." She bumps against him. " I dress warmly. It's not my fault the textile industry is useless to keep me properly warm. And you do such a fine job of it." He grumps but doesn't protest any further. She takes it as a victory.)

They arrive when she finishes her cocoa and they go directly to the bedroom, too tired to care about anything else than a bed and each other's arms. A minute or so later, she settles against him and she dismiss any awkwardness there might have been left between them by kissing him lazily, taking her time to take his lips between hers, reacquainting herself with the feel of him under the covers. He goes along, holding her tight and revelling in her touch. It's so simple, he thinks, to be able to kiss her, to let her take control of him, even for a few blissful seconds. River never let him rest one moment, always keeping him on his toes, never allowing him to lower his guard. It was exhausting.

Clara is the easiness he sought far and wide. He's so fucking lucky that she just presented herself right in front of him, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He thinks the universe has never been so kind to him and he wonders, as he feels Clara drifting away against his chest, how long his luck will last.


End file.
